


You had me at 'holoform'

by BlushLouise



Series: Holoform [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Character Death, Culture Shock, Drama & Romance, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Holoforms (Transformers), Interspecies Romance, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of Previous Sexual Assault, Oh the drama, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychology, Torture, oblivious OC, sexy holoforms, treatment of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-03-23 23:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 39
Words: 282,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13798860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlushLouise/pseuds/BlushLouise
Summary: Dr. Isobel Harrington is an old hand at army bases. But when she finished her doctorate, she never expected that she one day would put her skills to use on giant alien robots.Seriously. Giant. Alien. Robots.As if that's not unnerving enough, they have a human form as well. And holy crap, these are some seriously hot humanoids.Isobel's never been this distracted in her life. It's going to be an interesting ride.





	1. Alien encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Bayverse AU with G1 characters. Pairings, characters and tags will be updated as the chapters are posted.

_Dear diary,_

_Today, I had an autonomous robotic organism from the planet Cybertron in my office. That was a first. And he had an interesting challenge for me…._

* * *

 

There's nothing quite like a cup of hot chocolate on the first cold autumn day. I can see, outside my office window, the leaves are already beginning to fall, and there's a hint of white mist over the grassy field. It's perfect running weather, not too cold yet. Thank heavens my window actually faces the back of the base, not the hangars.

There's a knock on my door, and I put my cup down. "Come."

The man who opens the door and walks in is tall and broad-shouldered, with a very potent presence. I know if I stand up, he'll tower over me. His dark hair is short and straight, and his bright, almost luminous blue eyes meet mine. "Hello, miss Harrington."

"Doctor Harrington, please. Or Isobel, if you prefer. Welcome, Optimus. Please take a seat."

He sits down in the less comfortable of the two chairs, puts one ankle on the other knee.

"Thank you for taking time to see me."

"Of course. Anytime. What can I do for you?"

He looks at me, doesn't waver. Interesting character.

"I am not entirely sure. Colonel Lennox recommended that I come see you, but I do not know exactly what you do."

I smile at him – not too much, just enough to make him comfortable. "I'm a psychologist. I help people deal with the thoughts that trouble them so much that it interrupts their everyday lives. My specialty is post-traumatic stress disorders and disturbances of the mind due to overlong exposure to stressful, high-intensity situations. That's why Lennox hired me."

"I see. And how exactly do you help people with this?" Blue eyes bore into mine.

"I talk to them. Give them mental tools to handle the overload of reactions their brain is producing."

"I see." He twitches a little, seems uncomfortable. Optimus usually keeps himself under tight control, so this is out of character for him. I lean forward, chin in my hand.

"I have read your file, of course," I say. "You take your role as leader of the Autobots very seriously."

He nods. "It is a responsibility that I shoulder willingly."

"Yes. But even a task taken on willingly can become a burden after a while."

Abruptly, he stands, walks over to the window, his back to me. "You say that I find my situation troublesome."

"No," I disagree, shaking my head slightly. "I say that the mantle of leadership is not always easy to wear."

He turns, scrutinizes me. I hold his gaze steadily. Then he turns back to the window.

"Lennox suggested that I and my Autobots would benefit from your… expertise."

"I am willing to help in any way I can, of course," I reply. "It's why I'm here." I look at the screened-off part of my office. "I even have an Autobot-sized office that I can open up at need."

"Our minds are electronic," he says. "We can simply reprogram them if they malfunction."

I nod, even though he's not looking at me. "Yes. But is there not a line between troubled and malfunctioning?"

He grins, quickly, so fleetingly that I'm not sure it's there. "Yes, of course." Then he walks back, sits in the uncomfortable chair, looks at me. "You would be willing to talk to them if they have trouble adapting to their situation? If they have difficulty interacting with humans or other Autobots? If they have difficulty dealing with loss?" He leans back, runs a hand through his hair. A very human gesture – I wonder how he's picked it up. He must be very good at adapting to his environment. "They come to me with these things, but some things they will not discuss even with their commander."

"I understand that," I reply. "Sometimes, a neutral third party is more beneficial."

"Exactly," he replies, again with that fleet smile. "I know you were mainly signed on to deal with humans, though. This will be a new experience for you, and a steep learning curve. Are you sure you're willing to?"

"I've dealt with injured soldiers my whole career," I reply, arching an eyebrow at him. "I am among the best in my field. There is a reason Lennox hired me specifically."

"I do not doubt it," he says. "But no one on earth has practiced your discipline on an alien species before. And most of my Autobots have been at war for millennia, and have seen more loss and more Energon shed than any sane bot could stand. You may find them more traumatized than even you could expect."

"Then all the more reason for them to come and see me," I reply, leaning forward. "If I can be of help, I would very much like the chance to try."

He stands. "Then it's settled. I'll let them know they can come to you should they feel the need."

"Thank you." I stand as well, reaching out to shake his hand. After a moment, he takes it. "My door is always open. For you, too. Even if you just need somewhere to look out of the window for a while."

He smiles again, just as fleetingly. "I will remember. Thank you. Isobel." Then he leaves.

* * *

 

_Something tells me this will be interesting. Both interesting for my profession – I mean, like he said, no one else that I know of has ever psychoanalyzed aliens – but also for me, personally. I'd love to find out what makes these guys tick. So, to learn a bit more about them, I ate my lunch outside today and watched the training._

_It's fun to watch the human soldiers spar with the Autobots. I suppose 'fun' might not be exactly the correct sentiment, but it was certainly entertaining. Seeing a group of five soldiers try to take down one of the Autobots with wheeled feet – I confess, I can't remember his name without consulting the files, must pay better attention and reread them – is not unlike a swarm attack done by a bunch of kindergarteners on a grown man. Except with pointier bits and far more dangerous weapons._

_No, it will be interesting. That is, if any of them come to see me at all. I wouldn't necessarily bet on it._


	2. The first client

_Dear diary,_

_Today, I have my first alien client! Lennox has had me set up with some sort of shared appointment system, where both he and Optimus have access. So today, my ten o'clock simply reads 'Autobot Prowl'. I suppose I'll have to get used to that. At least it gives me enough warning to read up on the file before ten, so I'll be sure that it's the correct Autobot that walks in. And I got to open the Autobot section of my office, which is really huge, by the way. More cavern than office, and with some really, really, really big chairs. Mine is on a dais, and I have to climb close to forty steps to get to it, would you believe that? Good thing I'm fit._

_Anyway, Prowl. His file is interesting. Based on what I read there and what I've heard, he seems to be a borderline Asperger case with genius level intelligence – if one can apply human terms to a digital intelligence. There might also be a touch of OCD in there. I guess I'll find out._

* * *

 

There is a knock on the tall, Autobot-sized door. I walk over, open it by pushing what I hope is the correct button.

Thankfully, the Autobot standing outside the door is the same one whose picture I was just looking at in the file – tall, black and white, red horns or something on his head.

"Hello, Prowl. Please, come in."

"Thank you, doctor Harrington." He walks past me, goes over to the large chairs. Just like his immediate superior, he chooses the uncomfortable chair. Unlike him, he sits straight as a rod, not letting himself relax.

I close the door again, and head for the steps. This is going to get old really fast.

When I finally get to my seat, I look up at the Autobot. Even on my dais, his head is high above me.

"Welcome," I say. "Thank you for coming to see me. It sets a precedent for the others to follow."

"That is true," he says. "I had not considered that. But you're right, that is an important aspect."

I smile at him. "So what do you want me to help you with?"

"I am not sure. Optimus tells me it would be beneficial for me to talk to you."

I smile again. I love blank cases. Not. "Optimus talked to me about helping bots who were dealing with grief or loss, or had trouble adapting to your situation, or found co-working with humans difficult. Do you feel that any of those things apply to you?"

"No, not really." Bright blue eyes bore into mine. "I have come to terms with how things are, and I have no issue with working with another species."

"I see." Another smile, not that it helps in dealing with this one. New tactic. "You're here in your bipedal form."

He looks down on himself. "Yes."

"Do you not have a holoform?"

"Yes, I do." He looks confused, and annoyed at being confused. As much sense as that makes. As much as it is possible to see anything on that blank face – if I hadn't been trained to notice, I wouldn't have. "Did you want me to use it?"

"It makes no difference to me," I tell him. "I was just curious as to the line of thinking that lay behind your choice."

"I don't like the holoform." He frowns. "No, that's inexact. I do not see the need for the holoform."

That's it, I'll bet. That's why Optimus sent him.

"I believe Ratchet constructed them to assist the Autobots in their interaction with humans?"

He shakes his head. "No, Ratchet designed them to help us blend in among the humans. Not to help us interact. Since we do not need to blend in here, I have little need of it. It is also not possible to use it in bipedal mode."

"I see. And you've never considered using it on base, to ease the contact between you and your human colleagues?"

"I've seen no need to. My immediate human colleagues seem to be managing well without me using it. To be honest, I've never even activated it."

I nod. "And has Optimus ever asked you to?"

He hesitates. "He has… encouraged me to, but not told me to."

I stand up, walk down all those steps again. Stupid dais. "Humor me for a moment, Prowl. Can you activate the holoform?"

"You want me to activate it now?"

I just nod. "Call it an experiment."

He frowns. "I'm not fond of those."

"Call it a test, then, if you prefer."

He nods, stands up. And then folds up into himself until he's a car. Such a strange thing to witness.

The next moment, a tall man stands in front of me. His hair is long, light brown, and held back in a ponytail, and he's got the bright blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes and porcelain skin. His face is chiseled, with clear features, and his grey t-shirt clings to his chest.

Simply put, he's unbelievably good-looking. I summon my professional self-control.

He looks down on himself, frowns. "This feels – unnatural."

"Okay. Can you explain what it is exactly that makes it feel unnatural? The form is similar to your bipedal mode."

"I don't know what it is." He turns slowly, examining the way his body moves.

I school myself to breathe normally. "Do you think that perhaps it simply is that you're not used to it?"

He looks at me, nods. "That may be it."

I smile. Be still, my beating heart. "Then I have a suggestion. For our next session, you're coming in holoform, and we're going jogging."

"Jogging?"

I grin. "Yes, it's something we do to keep fit. It's essentially a form of running. Is Friday at ten okay?"

He nods, looks bewildered. Then he vanishes in a shower of blue sparks, and suddenly the car stands back up.

I can't help it. I gape.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I startle you?"

"Yes, you did. But that's okay." I smile. "I will see you in a few days, Prowl."

He nods and leaves.

And I take deep breath and bounce up and down a bit. Holy crap, what a totally doable hunk he turned into! I feel like I need a cold shower. Unfortunately, I have a soldier coming in in fifteen. So, with a slight tinge of regret, I close the Autobot half of the office again, and go back to my human-sized desk.

* * *

 

_So there it is. If all the Autobots look like that, I'm going to flip. I'm going to ask Optimus if pictures of their holoforms can be included in their personnel files, so I know who I'm talking to if I bump into someone. And so I can be mentally prepared the next time someone that droolworthy walk into my office._


	3. Restrictions Schmestrictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isobel is dragged into the madness that is Sideswipe, gets to meet some more 'Bots, and discovers that twins really are double the trouble.

_Dear diary,_

_Turns out the wheeled Autobot who was swarmed by the soldiers the other day is called Sideswipe. Yes, I've been reading up on my files. Plus, he came by today. And that thought I had about all the holoforms being gorgeous? Unfortunately, that part is totally correct._

Sideswipe sits, or lounges, in the most comfortable chair, one jeans-covered leg dangling over the armrest. He shoots me a cheeky grin. "So you're Isobel."

I grin back. His energy's infectious. "And you're Sideswipe. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, I'm good," he replies. "I just wanted to meet the person who got Prowl to finally activate his holoform."

I raise one eyebrow. "He's using it?"

"I saw him activate it yesterday," Sideswipe grinned. "He just looked at himself, frowned, and deactivated it again."

I nod. "You yourself seem very comfortable in this form, Sideswipe."

He chuckles, a low, deep sound that goes straight to my ovaries. How the fuck did Ratchet design these things anyway? Must remember to ask him.

"It's an extra form to play with," he grins. "Plus, I like being seen. It's fun to see the reactions the humans give me."

Narcissistic, shallow, a very playful personality. I wonder what's plaguing him.

I look him over. He's not wrong, his form is definitely stareworthy. Especially the way his pants just cling to his hips, and his defined abs are visible even through the red t-shirt. The bright blue eyes sparkling at me under dark eyebrows and long eyelashes.

He smirks at me, not unaware of my scrutiny. I just smile.

"So you really came by just to say hi."

He grins. "Yep."

"And there's nothing I can do for you."

He sits up and leans forward, elbows on knees. "Actually, there is something. There's a party tonight you can come to."

"On a Wednesday?" I shake my head. "I'm not allowed to socialize with clients. Sorry."

He stares at me. "You live on an army base that's on an island."

I nod.

"You're hired to cater to every soul on the base."

I nod again, and he grins. "Then if you can't socialize with your clients, who the frag are you supposed to socialize with? Are you going to hang out with no one but yourself?"

I blink. "You have a point."

"Besides," he argues, "you've been here what, three weeks? You can't have racked up that many clients in that time. I'll bet that most of the people there tonight will be strangers to you. So consider it a chance to get to know us."

I tilt my head slightly, purse my lips. "I'll think about it."

He grins, smelling an easy victory. "I'll wait outside your door at eight. Wear something pretty." Then he bounces up, pecks my cheek and breezes out the door. "See you tonight, doc!"

I giggle quietly. Sideswipe certainly has a big personality. Then I frown. Wasn't there something in his file about a twin brother? Idly, I wonder if his brother is the same. If he is… Well, Lord help us.

* * *

_Wear something pretty, he said. Idiot Autobot. Those words, combined with that look that just oozed sex, have had me running back and forth between my bathroom and my closet for almost an hour. I own nothing pretty! And there's nothing for it but to put on something less pretty – Diego Garcia isn't exactly rich in high street shops. Let's hope that the fact that I've been wearing only my suit or my running clothes since I got here will make something only less pretty look actually pretty. If that makes any sense._

_Moronic Autobot. This is all his fault. Let's hope he's running a bit late, so I have time to fix my hair too._

There is a knock on the door at eight o'clock exactly. I just about have time to fasten the clasp of my necklace and give myself a once-over in the mirror before I put on my professional smile and open the door.

And completely stop breathing.

Sideswipe smirks at me, one side of his mouth drawn up in a grin. "Ready, doc?" He looks me over. "You look good."

So does he. Who would have known a black t-shirt with a red leather jacket and slim-fitting jeans could look _that_ good?

He takes my hand, grins at me, pulls me out to the flashy red car standing at the curb just outside my building. "Come on, doc, the party waits for no one!"

The door opens on his own as we reach it, and I inch my way into the passenger seat, trying to keep my dress from sliding up too much. Suddenly, I'm alone – where his holoform was standing, there's nothing but a shower of blue sparks.

The next moment, he reappears in the driver's seat, behind me.

"Surprise!" He grins wickedly, blue eyes sparkling at me. "Breathe, doc. It's a necessary body function for humans." He looks me over again. "Plus, that dress works better on you when your chest moves."

Okay. Someone needs to explain to this guy about boundaries and sexual harassment. Before he gets himself slugged by someone slightly less dazzled by his looks. If such a person exists, that is.

"Where are we going?" I ask, looking away from him.

"Rec room," he replies. "Bee and Blue have been fixing it up all day."

"Okay. What's the occasion, anyway?"

He grins, leans back in the seat. "Fun. No other occasion is needed."

I grin. "So is this an Autobot-only function, or is anyone welcome?"

He looks at me, eyebrows raised. "You know, I have no idea? I guess we'll have to see who shows up!"

I frown. "Huh. The last time I was at a party like that, it was me and three other people. Nobody showed up. That's how the host learned that you have to actually invite people for anyone to appear."

He laughs, a loud, rich noise that has me grinning as well. "That sounds absolutely abysmal," he chortles. "Don't worry, we'll top that – if no one else shows up, it'll still be me, Sunny, Bee, Blue and you, so five. And even if it's just us, I'll guarantee you that it'll be more fun."

I giggle. "Doesn't take much."

Sideswipe slows down, before his holoform vanishes in a puff of sparks again. My door opens.

"After you, fair lady," his voice says. I grin and slide out, again taking care of my dress. I'm completely aware that the car is also him, and I've been sitting practically in his lap in my slightly-too-short dress for the ride. No wonder he has problems respecting boundaries.

His holoform appears again, takes my hand. "Come on, come on! You have to meet everybot!"

I grin. "What, all four of you?"

He chuckles. "Well, let's go find out!"

Again, he pulls me behind him, his long fingers completely encompassing mine. And he drags me into something that looks like a bad nineties teen flick prom scene.

I mean it. There's glitter and sparklers everywhere. And actual, physical crepe paper. Pink.

I just stare.

"Well, pit," Sideswipe says, looking around. "Not quite what I was expecting. Still, no matter! As long as we got Jazz's sound system we should be fine!"

He starts off again, pulling me further into the nineties nightmare. At least it seems like there are more than four other people here.

"Bee!" Sideswipe hollers. "Blue!"

"Sides!" someone hollers back. Sideswipe twirls me around, to face whoever was calling.

It turns out to be a slim, blond boy, barely more than a kid, with the same sparkling blue eyes and a dimple in his cheek. He's more cute than handsome, but his yellow t-shirt with a black stripe down the side fits him just as well as Sideswipe's black one fits him. I have to figure out how Ratchet designed these things. After all, if all the Autobots look like Greek gods, what does that actually say about Ratchet? Wonder if I'll have him in my office at any point, so I can ask him?

"Bumblebee, what's with the decorations?" Sideswipe asks, pointing around him. "I thought you were going to make it look cool!"

The blond boy frowns, looks around. "It's not? It seemed to be the way to go when we looked up 'party decoration' on the human internet."

Sideswipe turns to me. "Doc, is this cool?"

I look around. "Umm…. Most decidedly not."

The kid looks crestfallen. His bottom lip juts out ever so slightly. Oh my God, what did he put into these forms? They're either completely doable, or you just want to cuddle them!

I can't resist. I raise my free hand – Sideswipe still has a hold of my other one – and cup the blonde's cheek. "Hey, don't worry. It may not be cool as such, but it's definitely firmly within human party traditions." I look around. "From what I can see, you got it just right."

He looks up again, grins widely at me. "Really? Awesome!" He lifts his hand, takes mine. "Thanks!"

Sideswipe laughs. "Well, I guess we'll have to take the doc's word for it. Introductions!" He turns to me, waves a hand towards Bumblebee. "Doc, this is Bumblebee. The shortish yellow bot that turns into a sports car with black racing stripes. He's a scout. Bee, this is Isobel Harrington. She works on base, she's a head doctor of sorts."

Bumblebee's lower lip juts out again. He's completely adorable. "I'm not that short."

"Short compared to me, kid," Sideswipe says loftily.

"Well, you're all tall compared to me," I say crisply. "So it doesn't really matter, does it?"

Sideswipe laughs, throwing his head back. "I guess not."

Bumblebee smiles at me and squeezes my hand.

Sideswipe starts walking again, pulling me along, and since Bumblebee hasn't released my hand either we're pulling him along too. I giggle quietly. This must look strange.

"There's Blue and Prowl," Bumblebee says from behind me, pointing.

Sideswipe skids to a stop, looking quickly all around him. "Blue and _Prowl_?"

"Yeah," Bee nods, walking up to the other's holoform. "See?"

Sideswipe grins, a wide, lazy smirk that does not bode well for anyone. "Doc, you're a fragging miracle worker."

He sets off again, pulling me towards an especially pink corner. I recognize the drop-dead gorgeous holoform standing facing me, but the other one is new.

"Hey, Prowl!" Sideswipe shouts. The gorgeous figure looks up, frowning. The other one turns around.

Sideswipe stops when he reaches them, and swings me out in front of him. With Bee still holding on to my other hand, I end up in a strange sort of slingshot motion – thrown forward, then pulled back.

That was not a squeak. I did not squeak.

Bumblebee is laughing, though. "Bluestreak, this is Isobel Harrington, she's somewhat new here. Isobel, meet Blue, he's cohost tonight."

"Hi," I say breathlessly, still trying to catch my balance from Sideswipe's stunt.

Bluestreak shoots me an eager smile. He's got the same soft brown hair and angelic features as Prowl's form does, but his hair is a little shorter, trying to escape the ponytail. He looks about as young as Bumblebee, but while Bee's full on adorable, Bluestreak's just really good-looking. Especially with that smile.

"Hi miss Harrington! I'm so glad you're here! Did we get the decorations right? I know it's a lot of pink, but apparently that's how it was supposed to be, and we didn't have any silver, so I didn't know what to use instead, so I found those sparklers, well actually Jazz had them lying around, I don't know why really –"

"Sometimes, with Jazz, it's best to not ask," Prowl interrupts, a tiny smile lurking at the edges of his perfect lips. "Hello, doctor Harrington."

"Isobel, please," I reply with a smile. "Nice to meet you, Bluestreak." I shake my hand loose from Sideswipe's, and hold it out towards the unfamiliar holoform. After a moment, he shakes it eagerly, still grinning like a young child.

After a moment, Sideswipe takes my hand back. "No hogging my date, Blue," he smirks at the other Autobot.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Your date?"

"Well, yes, I invited you, I collected you, I'm introducing you to everyone," he says, grinning. "Doesn't that qualify?"

I shrug and grin, shaking my head at him. "Don't get possessive. You're still a client that I'm technically not supposed to socialize with."

"You're not?" Bumblebee asked, smirking at Sideswipe. "Huh. Guess you'll have to leave her with me and Blue then."

"No way in pit," Sideswipe replied, grinning. "We have more introductions to do, first." I look at him, raise an eyebrow again. "Don't worry," he smirks, "I'm not going to introduce you to everyone. Just a few key figures you have to meet, and I'll turn you loose, I promise."

He twirls me around again – not that easy, considering I'm still attached to Bumblebee by my other hand – so I'm facing the room. "Come on."

He pulls me along to one of the tables, where two people sporting the tell-tale glowy blue eyes are looking around and grinning. This time, when Sideswipe slingshots me ahead of him, Bumblebee follows into the movement, leaving me hanging onto him for balance while Sideswipe is suddenly standing behind both of us. Bumblebee winks at me.

"Guys, this is Isobel, she's new here," he says. "Isobel, this is Jazz and Ironhide."

"Nice to meet you both," I say, looking from one to the other.

My hypothesis is broken. There are more categories of holoform than just 'doable' and 'cuddlable'. Ironhide falls firmly into the 'scream and run away from'-category.

It's not that he looks particularly villainous, as such. But every fibre of his being screams 'dangerous'. The way he carries himself, like he's perfectly capable of snapping anyone's neck for disagreeing with him. The look in his eyes, and the way he's constantly appraising his surroundings. Even the way he's built – tall, broad-shouldered, the short soldier's buzz covering his scalp, the fine scar going down one cheek. I've met enough hard-core soldiers to know what I'm looking at. Ironhide is a warrior.

Jazz, though? Jazz is built from pure sex-appeal, and how the hell Ratchet managed will probably never be revealed. If we could bottle that, we'd have a WMD on our hands. His dark, almost black hair is braided back in cornrows and hung down his shoulders, and his blue eyes are partially obscured by visor-looking sunglasses, but it's the way he carries himself that cinches it. There's just so much confidence there, such a look of come-hither that to be quite honest, it's hard to resist. I can feel my hips turning against him without any conscious command from me. And I'm not even sure he's doing it on purpose.

"Hey ya, Isobel," he purrs at me, one eyebrow lifting. "Ya's the shrink, right?"

I nod, not quite trusting my voice at that point. Or my knees, for that matter. Good thing I've got two guys to hold on to.

"Shrink?" Ironhide asks. His voice is gravel. "What does that mean?"

"Head doctor," Sideswipe puts in from behind me.

I nod, looking at Ironhide. It's far easier to face him than it is Jazz. And that's saying something, because Ironhide makes me want to tuck my tail in and run. "I'm a psychologist. I help soldiers with mental trauma."

He chuckles. "No shortage of that around here. You should have your hands full with Sideswipe alone, I've always said his processor's messed up."

"Aw, Hide, I knew you loved me," Sideswipe grins.

The big soldier snorts. "Yeah, like a kick in the tanks."

"Anyway, come on, Isobel, one more for you to meet," Sideswipe chants, pulling me along again. I keep a desperate hold of Bumblebee – who knows what Sideswipe has planned for me next.

"See ya around, Isobel," Jazz calls, grinning at me as I'm pulled away.

"Sideswipe, please remember that humans have more fragile joints than we do," Ironhide grumbles. "Don't pull her shoulder out of its socket."

Sideswipe just laughs, but he slows down a bit so I can catch up instead of being dragged behind him like a kite.

"Now, where is he, I know he's here, where's he hiding," he mutters, looking around. Then he changes direction, pulls me towards the back of the room where the light is dimmer and there is less pink. There's a figure lounging against the wall back there.

Sideswipe pulls me along until we're standing in front of whoever this is. The holoform is not unlike Sideswipe's yet completely different somehow – equally sexy, equally good-looking, but where Sideswipe oozes charm and good-natured fun, this one has a dangerous, arrogant air about him.

Sideswipe drops my hand. "Sunstreaker," he murmurs.

Bumblebee grins. "Sunstreaker, this is Isobel, she works here. Isobel, this is Sunstreaker, he's Sideswipe's twin."

I knew I read something about a twin. I smile at Sunstreaker, hold out my hand towards him. "Nice to meet you."

He just eyes my hand, makes no move to take it. Raises an eyebrow at me. "Hi."

I drop my hand, raise an eyebrow back at him. "Hi yourself."

Bumblebee snorts, drawing my attention. "Don't mind him, Isobel," he chuckles. "Sunny doesn't like anyone but Sideswipe. And not always him, either."

"Don't call me that," Sunstreaker snarls. Sideswipe takes his hand, start intertwining his fingers between the other's. Leans in to kiss Sunstreaker along the jawline. I try not to stare.

"Whatever," Bumblebee grins, and start pulling me away, "Isobel, you hungry? We got some refreshments down here."

I nod, tearing my gaze from what's going on by the wall. "Yeah, sure, Bumblebee. See you guys around."

Sideswipe just waves at me, still working his mouth along his brother's jawline. As I watch, Sunstreaker's hand comes up to cradle Sideswipe's neck.

I wait until we're out of earshot, then turns towards Bumblebee. "Those two are not brothers, are they? Is there something I'm missing in translation?"

He facepalms, stares at me. "Shoot, sorry! I completely forgot that you didn't know. They're split-spark twins, sparkmates." He breaks off, frowns. "How do I say this so you understand?" He starts pulling me along again. "They share a spark. I guess the closest concept you have is that they share a soul – one soul, split between them."

I stop. "Oh! Soultwins!"

Bumblebee just stares at me. "Um. What?"

"What you said," I say. "One soul split between two individuals. So they're soultwins. Not necessarily siblings, but soulmates. Meant for each other. The two halves of a soul strive to be together, so they're perfect together." I shrug at his look. "Something I read about in a fantasy novel once. Not something I ever thought I would get to apply to any real-world situation, but I never thought I'd be working with aliens either, so there you go."

Bumblebee gives me a small smile. "You know, I don't think anyone's gotten it that fast. Ever. They are actually siblings of sorts though – the split-spark thing happens before they're crafted."

I frown, then grin at him. "Sounds strange. But then again, you are aliens."

He laughs at that. "Come on. Drinks are this way."

* * *

Who knew that Autobots were such party animals? My worry that there would barely be anyone here is completely unfounded, as the rec room is soon so full of humans and holoforms that I can barely see where I'm at. And I'm whirled around like a doll – Bumblebee hands me over to Bluestreak who hands me over to someone called Mirage, whom I have never met before, and when he's called away I'm left standing at one of the high tables watching the dance floor, glass of soda in my hand, feeling more than a little dizzy and trying to make sense of the connections I see around me.

Robots my ass. This is a highly social race. And there's a lot of love - or lust - in the air.

Ironhide is on the dance floor, snuggled up tight against a female I do not know. Her long, dark hair is pulled back in a simple high ponytail, and her dark top and black pants do not mark her out from the crowd in any way– but oh my God, there's nothing plain about her. The way she moves, clings to Ironhide with total body control, while he moves with her, nuzzling at her neck, her jaw, her mouth… They should be R-rated. I'm fairly certain their clothes are just for show at this point and do not necessarily hinder them very much.

And then there's Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. They're not in the center of the floor, like Ironhide and his lady, but they're no less obvious for all that. Sunstreaker has Sideswipe pressed up against the wall, one of Sideswipe's legs around his waist, mouth moving from his shoulder and up towards his mouth, and back down, nibbling and biting. And Sideswipe… He's got a firm fisthold of the back of Sunstreaker's shirt, the other hand pulling and scratching at his back, head leaned back and eyes closed, mouth moaning.

I'd say these people do not have any common decency, but I'm a bit to shellshocked to care at this point.

"Oughta get a room, don't ya think?" a soft voice purrs from behind me.

I turn to find Jazz looking at me with a grin. He nods towards the couples on the floor. "What ya's lookin' at, those are mated pairs. Bee said you got the whole Sides/Sunny thing faster'n anyone he'd met before?"

I look away from him, nod. "Yeah. I got it."

"Well, Hide'n Chromia're the same, sorta," he says. "Without the split-spark thing. They's normal sparkmates. And normally they's a bit more discreet," he smirks, looking out at the couple on the dance floor, "but Chromia jus' came back from a fairly lengthy mission, so I'm guessin' there's a lot of built-up energy there. There's no excuse for Sides 'n' Sunny though, they's always been like that. Most of us, however, are a tad more private."

I turn to him, brace against the sheer attraction this holoform is generating. "Ask you a question?"

He nods. "Shoot."

"Well, Prowl said that Ratchet designed the holoforms to help you blend in among the humans. Why the hell did he make them that complete? I mean.." I wave my hand, indicate the sprint runt going on around me. "These are obviously complete with hormones, nerve endings, pleasure centers, the lot. It seems superfluous."

He grins, looks around. "Ya's sharp." Then his blue eyes bore into mine, and I have to take hold of the table. "Ratchet didn't do this. We did this to ourselves. Ratchet designed the basic programming, movement pattern, standard looks, that sort of thing. Then we were given control over our own holoforms." He smiles a slow, wide smile, taking in what was going on at the dance floor. "Most of us, when we're given a new toy – well, we like to play."

With a flash, I understand. "I get it," I laugh quietly. "It's the same as with the fancy cars."

He shoots me a grin. "Exactly. Why not have the best, huh?"

I smile back. "I guess I see what you mean."

He grins, flicks me a mock salute. "Bright girl. Anyways, I'm wanted elsewhere. Ya's not lonely, are ya? I'll send someone to entertain ya, 'kay?"

I just giggle. I'm not sure I'm up for what these bots deem to be 'entertaining'.

But the holoform Jazz recruits, that walks up to me and gives me a smile, is actually not scary. Good-looking, yes; handsome, totally, but not scarily sexy like Jazz or Sunstreaker. With the long, blond hair gathered into a ponytail, the tanned skin and the bright blue eyes partially obscured by visor-like sunglasses not unlike Jazz's, he looks like an Australian lifeguard or something – someone who's spent all his life outdoors in the sun, doing physical things, but still a normal human being.

I guess he hasn't gone as overboard on his holoform as some of the others.

"Hi," he says, reaching out a hand. "We haven't met. I'm First Aid."

I take his hand, smile at him. "Isobel."

"Nice to meet you. You enjoying yourself? We're not overwhelming you, are we?"

I grin, look around. "Some of you are. But it's okay. I've actually seen worse clubbing." I turn back towards him. "So which bot are you? If you don't mind my asking."

He grins. "No worries. Must be hard for you to keep track of everybot. I'm the tallish, red and white one, alt mode is an ambulance. I'm a medic."

I giggle. "Should have guessed that. First Aid."

He chuckles. "Can I get you anything?"

I look down at my soda glass. "I'm good, thanks."

"'Kay." He smiles at me. "So you're a psychologist, huh?"

I nod. "Yes. I specialize in post-traumatic stress disorders and mental trauma from overlong exposure to stressful situations."

He looks interested. "Wow. You'll be useful here, then."

"That's what Lennox thought, too," I agree, looking around me. "Though this feels less like over-strung soldiers and more like a frat party than anything else."

He grins. "That's what you get when Sideswipe and Sunstreaker set it up. Especially when Bee and Blue help." He pulls up a barstool for me and another one for himself from somewhere. "I have to admit, your profession intrigues me. We had nothing like it on Cybertron."

"It's a fairly recent profession here too," I say, sipping at my drink. "The discipline of psychology has been around for 150 years or so, but we've only been a part of the public and common health care system for the last half a century."

"And you basically talk people better?"

I giggle a bit at his slightly credulous tone. "Yeah. We use the tools we have." I look up at his visor. "What do you do, since you don't have psychologists?"

He frowns. "Well, we can sync up and enter the processor, unscramble what's gone wrong that way."

"Huh." I empty my glass. "I guess that's easier."

"Here, gorgeous." Jazz flits by, places another glass in front of me. As sudden as he appears, he's gone again.

I stare at the glass, then in the direction Jazz vanished. "Huh."

"I think he was watching you," First Aid grinned. "He enjoys throwing people off balance."

"Yeah, I can tell," I agree, sniffing the contents of the glass cautiously. It seems all right. "And that explains so much about his holoform."

"His holoform?" First Aid says, sounding curious. "How do you figure that?"

I lean back, wave my hand to indicate the bots around me. "Well, your holoforms are meant to blend in, right? But no few of these bots have engineered them to stand out, instead. Jazz's form seems to be designed to put people off balance, to befuddle their minds. He's engineered it to be almost impossible to resist." I chuckle slightly, sipping at my glass again. Tastes okay, too. "I'm not sure how much of that he did on purpose, though."

First Aid looks around, and grins at me. "I guess I see what you mean. It's not dissimilar to how Bumblebee's engineered his to look innocent and young."

I nod. "Exactly. Bumblebee's holoform is so freakily adorable that you just can't help giving him what he asks. For him to willingly engineer it like that – to me, that says that he feels like the youngest one, but he's not afraid to use that, and he might be just a tiny bit manipulative. He's also cocky and confident, or he couldn't pull it off. Like Bluestreak – his holoform is also youngish in appearance, but he doesn't play on it like Bumblebee does, so I'd guess he's not as confident."

First Aid shoots me an interested smile. "That's a fascinating theory. It doesn't sound far wrong."

I smile back. "Basic profiling. Psychoanalysis 101."

"So what does my holoform say about me?" He grins, looks curious.

I look him over. He's not as muscled as Sideswipe, but he still gives off the impression that he's fit and well-built, and his stonewashed jeans and white t-shirt shows off his body well enough, but there's nothing – extraordinary - about him.

"I'd say you've got confidence, you know your worth, but your worth isn't bound up in your looks," I say. He grins. "You also don't feel the need to draw everyone's eye, but you don't mind if people do look at you. That's the confidence thing again. You stand on your own two feet, you don't need anyone to show you how. Also, you don't want to make anyone uncomfortable about your presence."

"Cool. You make me sound slightly awesome," he says, laughing.

"Well, maybe you are, at that," I grin, emptying the glass again. The room is suddenly spinning around me, and I grab hold of the table. "Whoa."

First Aid's hand is on my shoulder, steadying me. "You okay?"

I nod. Bad idea, the room spins even harder. "Dizzy." Really dizzy. I start seeing black specks in front of my eyes.

There's an almighty crash behind me. I jump almost out of my skin, which turns out is a very bad idea when you're already fighting to keep upright. I careen into First Aid's chest, no control whatsoever.

"What do you mean, you spiked the drinks?" The voice from behind me sounds furious. Vaguely, I realize it's Lennox.

"It said so on the internet, that that was part of the experience," someone protested feebly.

"But what the hell did you use?" Lennox growled. "This does not taste like alcohol."

"No, it's one of Wheeljack's concoctions," the other voice replies. It sounds vaguely like Bumblebee, but not quite.

"Isobel? Listen to me," First Aid says. I try to focus at where I think his face is. "How many units did you consume?"

"Just two," I slur, trying to make my tongue work as it should. "Be fine in a moment."

"The pit you will," he growls, picking me up effortlessly. "Skids and Mudflap spiked the drinks. I think I should get you out of here, if that's okay with you."

I just nod, closing my eyes. Leaning against his chest seems like a good idea.

I'm vaguely aware that he carries me out of the room, brushing off caring questions and upset statements with the same calm demeanor. Vaguely, brain not quite functioning, I'm hoping he's taken care that my dress doesn't slide up and end up around my waist.

"No, she's not okay, her drink was spiked. Yes, I'm taking her home. No, that's okay Sideswipe, I got it. Don't worry, she'll be fine. I need to get her out though. Yes, that would be great, thanks."

Someone wraps a jacket around me, and I sigh gratefully. Then we're outside – the noise suddenly cuts off, and the chilled air feels good on my face.

"I'm going to put you in my alt mode and scan you, okay?" First Aid says. I just nod weakly.

There's the sound of a car door opening, and then I'm put down on a flat surface. My body tingles.

"Damn it," First Aid growls. "If Ratchet and Prowl don't kill them, I will."

"What's wrong, doc?" I mumble. "Will I live? Will I ever be able to play the piano again?"

He chuckles grimly. "Yes, you will, you're still making jokes. You've ingested some form of diluted narcotic compound. It shouldn't cause any lasting damage, but I'd like to hook you up to an IV just in case, to make sure you get enough fluids in you."

"Whatever you say, doc," I try to say. I'm not sure how much of it he actually understands, but I feel the sharp pinprick in my hand a few moments later. "Ow."

"Sorry, Isobel," First Aid says. "Listen, I'm taking you to med bay for the night. I don't like leaving you home alone with this."

"Okay," I sigh. "Take me in."

He chuckles, picks me back up. I realize he must have been driving while treating me. "Don't worry, we'll take good care of you."

I don't have the energy to respond. Instead, my head drops into his warm chest again, and I drift off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The concept of soultwins comes from Joanne Bertin's dragonlord books. Look them up, they're awesome!


	4. Human colloquialisms and holoform protocols

When I come to, it's morning. I'm lying in a huge bed – I mean _huge_. It looks like it's made to fit the Autobots, so I'm pretty much drowning in it. And I'm alone in the room.

I sit up, look myself over carefully. Still wearing the dress from last night, though someone's removed my shoes; the IV line is still in my arm, and there are pads fastened to my chest, attached via wires to beeping machinery near the bed. My arm is encased in a blood pressure cuff.

"Damn it," I grumble. "Not the way I wanted to start the morning." I know better than to start pulling at the needles and pads myself though, so for now I simply scootch myself into a more comfortable position, and wait. Someone's bound to come along eventually, right? Right?

It takes me all of seventeen seconds before I'm bored with waiting. I look around for a red cord or something, to summon anyone with, when the door opens behind me. Large footsteps echo against the walls.

"Morning, Isobel. Feeling better?"

I turn to see a tall, red and white Autobot with a blue visor grinning down at me, standing so close to the bed that I have to lean back to see his face. Of course, I lean back too far, and crash down on my back on the bed again. "Oof. Hi, First Aid."

He smiles, looks pleased. "You recognize me."

"Well, yes, you told me what you look like," I say, trying to sit back up and failing spectacularly before giving up. "So. What's the verdict?"

He looks at the instruments around me. "It's good that you remember, that means that your mind works as it should. Your blood pressure's still a little low, but the narcotic compound is out of your system, no harm done. I've let Lennox know you're not working today, though."

I pout, ignoring the fact that it probably makes me look like a spoiled brat. "I didn't exactly plan to have a day off. That's the last time I let Sideswipe drag me to a holoform party."

He chuckles. "Blame Skids and Mudflap. They owe you an apology when they get out of the brig."

I try to sit up again, groaning at the pull of the wires and the IV. "So I'm stuck here for today?"

"I'd like to keep you for a few more hours, yes," he nods. "And Ratchet needs to check you as well. But then you're free to go." He looks at me, the way I've finally managed – with a lot of struggling and mumbling - to sit up, and how I'm frowning at the medical equipment that seems to be doing its damnedest to pull me back down. "Hang on."

Suddenly, he folds in on himself, just like Prowl did yesterday in my office. Then a cloud of blue sparks materializes on my bed, and solidifies back to the familiar holoform.

He walks over and kneels down by my side. "You don't need to wear these, now that you're awake," he smiles at me. "We can take them off."

I look him over. He's materialized in exactly the same clothes and style as last night. "So you actually have a practical use for your holoform."

He nods, smiles. "Yeah, doing this in my bipedal form is a nightmare. The equipment is so tiny. Ratchet can do it, but I don't have the instruments. Hold still for me a moment." Leaning in towards me, he lifts his hands to my chest, gently peeling off the pads that are stuck below my shoulders, then the pad directly over my heart. His fingers are soft, careful, but his touch still sends a static current across my skin. I gasp.

"Sorry," he murmurs, looking down at what he's doing. "Almost done." Gently, he lifts up my left hand, and starts peeling off the tape holding the IV in place. "I know the tape can sting a bit as it comes off."

It's not the tape, though there's no way I'm telling him that.

He pulls the IV tube out carefully, before putting on a bandage and affixing it with more tape. "There. Keep that on for a few hours." He looks up at my face, suddenly noticing how close he's gotten, and flinches back. "Sorry."

"No harm, no foul," I joke, smiling at him. Those eyes are captivating. "Hey, what are the chances of breakfast in bed?" I look down at myself. "Or maybe scrounging up a change of clothes?"

He frowns, looks me over. There's a glint of – something – in his eyes. "Food we can manage," he replies. "But I'm afraid the only clothes we have here are hospital gowns or soldier's uniforms. I can find you a uniform, if you'd like?"

I nod. "Anything to get out of this so-called finery. It's meant to look good, not feel good. And it's especially not made to sleep in and still be comfy."

He smirks at me. "Well, I'd say it did its job then. You looked really good last night." Then he disappears in a cloud of blue sparks, leaving me gaping. The ambulance drives away.

I shake my head. Damned Autobot.

* * *

_Thank God I brought my journal in my purse, or I would have been so bored. First Aid scrounged me up a uniform, but then he left, and I haven't seen a soul since. There are limits to how interesting it is to sit in an empty med bay sized for Autobots - I can't even look out of the windows because they're so high up on the wall, never mind getting out of bed. And I haven't seen hide nor hair – or nut or bolt, I suppose – of First Aid since he brought the uniform and some food for me._

_Being drugged aside, that party was… interesting. I never suspected that a race of metalloid robotic creatures could be so blindly hedonistic. Even more so, that they would choose to act this way in a form that isn't natural to them. I still don't know if they were all there yesterday, but if they were? Man, what a crazy species._

* * *

I look up from my diary to see First Aid walking towards me in his bipedal mode. I note that he's tall enough to look out of the windows easily.

"More comfortable?" he asks, indicating the uniform.

I look down at myself. "Much. Though I'm glad I don't have to live in one of these things."

He grins. "If you're up to it, there are a couple of miscreants here who would like to see you."

I lean sideways to look behind him – fat lot of good that does me, since he's wide enough to pretty much block my view to everything behind him. "Who?"

"I'm not saying." There's a smirk hidden behind that blue visor, I just know it. "I want to see how good you are at pairing mech to holoform." He walks over to the door, opens it, before moving away again.

The two mechs who walk in are unknown to me at first. I wait until they're both standing at the foot of my bed, looking positively sheepish for giant robots.

The grey one with the horns on his head opens his mouth, but stalls as I hold up my hand and frown at him. "Don't speak yet, please."

I look from the yellow one with some form of wings on his back, to the grey one with wings and horns. Tilt my head slightly. I do know these two – the young, almost restless energy, combined with the vibe of schoolboys waiting to be told off for their latest pranks.

"Hi, Bumblebee," I grin. "Hi, Bluestreak."

First Aid chuckles quietly from somewhere to the side and behind me.

"Hey, Isobel," Bumblebee grins. "I'm sorry you ended up here. We meant for you to have fun, honestly."

"Not fun as in drugs," Bluestreak added, rambling nervously. "We didn't know about what Skids and Mudflap had done, we really didn't and Primus, I'm so sorry, we never meant for that to happen, I'm really sorry, are you okay?"

"Yeah, no worries, Bluestreak, I'm fine," I laugh. He's still completely adorable. "I'm looking forward to getting out of here, though. It's not exactly peak entertainment in here."

"Sorry," First Aid says. It sounds like he's smiling. "I'll be sure to install a game or something before your next visit."

I twist, look up at him. "Next visit? Are you kidding me? Are you planning on me being drugged into a stupor on a regular basis?" Raising my eyebrows at him, I turn back to face the mechs in front of me again. "To be honest, if would help if I could even look out through the window."

Bumblebee grinned. "Well, we can fix that." He reaches down towards me, and before I can even think to protest I have a large metal fist wrapped around my torso, lifting me up from the bed and placing me in the window sill. Figures even that is spaced for Autobots – I can walk around on it comfortably. And with the light coming in from the side the way it is, I catch a look at my own reflection for the first time.

"Holy crap, I look like a blonde Rachel Nichols." I reach up, pull at my hair. "You know I couldn't achieve this look even if I tried? It must be the uniform."

"Like who?" Bluestreak said from behind me.

"Never mind," I say, trying to shake the tangles from my hair and failing. "You guys were probably not on the planet for that film anyway. Ugh, I need a shower to get rid of this look."

"I think you look good," First Aid says from behind me. Oh, he is definitely smirking now.

"You know, I think I got you wrong," I say, turning to him. "I think you must be Jazz. Possibly Sideswipe. The First Aid I talked to last night was much nicer and more professional than you are. Oh wait, maybe you're his twin?"

Bumblebee snorts. "Maybe he's watched too many Earth movies."

I give up on my hair, settle with pulling it back into a pony tail of sorts. "That's an impossibility. It's only possible to spend too much time watching movies, it's not possible to watch too many of them."

"How do you figure that out?" Bluestreak asked, sounding curious. "I mean, you can't watch too many and not watch too much, can you? That doesn't make any sense. I mean, not to me, anyway. Sorry."

I turn, look at him. Standing in the windowsill has put me almost at eye level with them – with Bumblebee, at least. "It does if you think about it. If I spent too much time watching movies, I wouldn't be doing anything else. But if I merely watch a lot of movies, in the time that I think I have for it, I can watch a lot of good film and still have time for other important things. Like running." I look out of the window – like yesterday, the weather is perfect. "First Aid, can you discharge me already? I need to get out there."

He nods, I can see the reflection. "I'll comm Ratchet, have him check you out. Then you're free to go."

"Hey, Isobel, can we watch movies with you some time?" Bumblebee asks eagerly. In my peripheral vision, First Aid hesitates.

"Sure, kid," I say, smiling at the young 'bots. "Find me an embarrassingly large screen, and I'll watch movies all night."

* * *

My hair is still wet from my post-run shower when there's a knock on my door. I open it to find First Aid's holoform, leaning slightly forward and looking bashful, eyes peeking up at me through long eyelashes behind the clear visor.

"Uhm. Hi, First Aid." I sound pretty much as confused as I feel. Didn't I already see this mech today? "How can I help you? Oh, did you want the uniform back?"

He shakes his head, lifts his hands to deter me. "No, don't worry. I'm sorry to bother you, Isobel." He takes a deep breath – do their holoforms need to breathe? Must ask Bumblebee or someone – and looks at me in my grey slacks and damp hair. "You're getting ready for bed?"

I chuckle a bit. "It's barely nine, First Aid. Bit early, even for me."

"Oh. Um. Would you take a walk with me?"

I tilt my head, look up at him. He's not as towering as Ironhide or Optimus, but he's still fairly tall. "Um. Okay? Just let me get my shoes."

I throw a jacket around me as I fall into step beside him, and he paces his steps to match mine.

"I came to apologize," he says after a moment.

I stop and stare at him. "What in the world do you think you have to apologize for?"

He hesitates. "I made some… comments… today that were inappropriate." He smiles ruefully. "That caused you to compare me to Sideswipe."

I blink, then memory hits me. "Oh! Don't worry about it. I've heard far worse."

"Probably," he nods with a smile, and starts walking again. "But you shouldn't have to hear them from me. And certainly not when you're in the med bay under my care."

I grin, kicking at a stray pebble on the path. "It's okay. I forgive you."

"I was actually hoping we could work closer together professionally," he continues after a moment. "I talked to Ratchet about it, too. Do all your clients come to you of their own volition, or are they referred?"

"Both," I reply. "Sometimes the threshold is higher for seeking me out voluntarily, so I get referrals too."

"So Ratchet and I can send someone to you if we think it would be a good idea?"

I nod. "Absolutely. That's what I'm here for."

He grins. "Good. That's great."

We walk on for a moment in silence, taking the shorter route that circles around my building and back.

"So how do you like it here so far?" First Aid asks, shooting me a sideways glance.

"It's interesting," I reply, looking up at him. "It's been a slow start, certainly. But new places always are."

"You don't have any qualms working with… you know…" his gesture takes in his entire being as well as the barracks and garages that I know are sitting just out of sight behind the hangars. "… us?"

I giggle. "Why, do you think you should be scary to me?"

He smiles slightly. "I don't know, you're the shrink, you tell me."

"Well, a little fear would probably have been justified," I concede. "But I'm enough of a sci-fi nut that the thrills of the ride far outweighs the price of the ticket."

He stops, stares at me. Shakes his head. "You humans have the strangest colloquialisms I've ever encountered. Does that mean you're not scared of us?"

I think about it for a moment. "Well, I was at first, a little bit. But giant robots – I've grown up reading about them. You should see my apartment at home, I have an entire wall of graphic novels and comic books, and giant robots feature in quite a few of them. The concept is familiar." I look up at him. "That's not to say that I pretty much almost fainted when Optimus Prime talked to me the first time."

First Aid grins. "He has that effect on a lot of people. Bots too." He turns his head slightly, looks towards the hangars and the Autobot living quarters hiding behind them. "I think it's because he's so obviously – something." He smiles, shakes his head. "I'm usually not this hopeless to converse with, I promise."

"I don't think you're hopeless." I pause, lacking he same word he was lacking, settle on something else. "He's awe-inspiring."

He nods, I can see the white of his teeth when he smiles again, the lights set up along the path reflected in his visor. "Awe-inspiring. It's a good word." He starts walking again. "And the behavior you saw last night didn't put you off either?"

I grin, remembering the way Chromia's hands snaked across Ironhide's chest and shoulders, how Sundstreaker's lips inched their way across the sensitive skin of his brother's/soulmate's neck. "You know, they could film that and stream it online, people would pay to see it."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Humans are strange."

"We're not the ones doing the hot'n'nasty to each other in borrowed bodies," I parry, looking up at him with a smile. "And you know, it fascinates me. That you would choose to use a body that's not your own. I bet you could party just as well in bipedal mode." I pause, thinking it over. "Or, you know, I actually have no idea if you could. At least not in the way those guys were going on last night."

He laughs, loudly. "How much do you want to know?"

I consider it for a moment. How much do I actually want to know? "Why do you use the holoforms for fun? Aren't you satisfied with your own bodies?"

"You may be asking the wrong mech," he replies earnestly. "I don't know why they're carrying on like that. I know these forms have within them the possibility of functioning almost as your body does – nerve clusters, hormonal glands, physical reactions, the lot. But they don't _need_ to. They can function quite well without most of these things. After all, they were designed to be inconspicuous – and if the holoform is simply meant to facilitate conversation, you wouldn't need to have it feel so much, would you? Basic sensitivity protocols should be sufficient. You'd certainly not need protocols for sexual arousal."

"So Ironhide and Chromia going at it in the middle of the dance floor is not necessarily standard protocol?"

He grins. "Not necessarily, no. Though Jazz created a fairly easy way to change the coding of the holofom, so most of them have actually added both the enhanced sensitivity protocol and the arousal protocol now."

"Most of them," I repeat. "Not you?"

"Heh." He looks down, some of his long hair partially obscuring his eyes behind the visor. "I haven't installed it. Yet. I've installed the enhanced sensitivity protocols, but I haven't implemented them."

Suddenly, he seems shy. I look up at him. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"No worries," he replies easily. I wonder idly if he picked up that phrase from me in the first place. "And to get back to your original question… Our bipedal modes do have similar protocols. I think the reason for the holoforms last night was to include the humans."

I burst out laughing, and he looks down at me with a hint of confusion to his features. "First Aid, look up 'orgy' on the internet."

He pauses for a moment. "Oh. Oh! No, not like that," he smirks, a hint of blue spreading across his cheeks. Blushing blue. Huh. "I meant socially."

"I know," I grin. "Consider this another lesson in human colloquialisms."

He smiles at me, still a little bit flustered. "Okay. Thanks, I guess."

I look ahead to see we're almost back to my doorstep. "I'm going to head back inside, 'kay?"

He nods. "Hey, Isobel?"

"Yeah?" I turn, look up at his face. He seems almost shy again.

"If you're watching movies with Blue and Bee, can I come too?" I sense that that wasn't quite the question he wanted to ask, but the flicker of something in his eyes is gone before I can analyze it.

"Sure," I reply easily. "Bee said he would set up something for Saturday already, unless something else came up. That good for you?"

He nods, smiles at me. "It's perfect. Thanks. See you then?"

I turn, walk up to my door. "Yeah. See you, First Aid."

* * *

_He's just too darn cute, isn't he? Not like Bumblebee, who's got that kidlike charm, or like Bluestreak, who's shy and always babbling to conceal it. But it's really nice to hang out with someone who's – well, normal, I guess._

_Tomorrow, I'm going jogging with Prowl for my first appointment. I wonder how many protocols he's added to his holoform. I'm sure as hell not going to ask him, though._


	5. Birds of a feather

_Dear diary,_

_Coming in to my office in running gear feels strange, to say the least. Like I'm too casual – seriously underdressed. I've added in time to go home and shower and change after my run with Prowl, so at least the rest of my day will be normal. Well, as normal as any day is here._

_I still don't know why Prime wanted Prowl to see me. Okay, he's not using his holoform as much as most of the others, but that's probably not that big of a deal? The way some of them are going on, I have a feeling it's not his cup of tea – or cube of energon, haha – anyway. According to his file, he's a tactician, so he's high in the chain of command, probably wouldn't be good to have him glued to a certain someone on the dance floor, barring all inhibitions._

_Crap. Must get that picture out of my head before he arrives._

_Must also look up Ironhide's position in the chain of command. Although it feels like he's more of a 'chain I take and beat you with until you know who's in command'-guy._

_I also wonder why Prowl and Bluestreak look so similar. Maybe I can ask Prowl. The personnel files do not include personal information, funnily enough – there was nothing in Sideswipe's file of him being Sunstreaker's personal sex toy, it just said 'twin' under 'known family'. Most of the Autobot files are blank under 'known family'. I guess the forms are set up with humans in mind. 'Age' and 'gender' are blank too, which I find extremely fascinating – the gender part, that is. Biologically (what I remember of that anyway), genderless species usually don't engage in sexual relations. So maybe they're not genderless, more of… gender-neutral? Gender-irrelevant? I don't think they use sexual relations to reproduce…_

_Fuck it, I just don't know enough about them. Must pick up 'Autobots for dummies – your guide to everything on our alien visitors' next time I'm near a book store._

_Or maybe just ask First Aid. Yeah, that'll be an interesting conversation. Then again, he's answered my questions so far. The only other 'bot I can think of to ask is Jazz… And that won't be awkward at all, will it?_

* * *

At the knock to my 'bot-sized door, I push the button to open again, for the second time this week. "Good morning, Prowl." I smile up at him.

"Good morning, doctor Harrington." Like last time, he walks in, turns towards me. "I trust you have fully recovered after the unfortunate incident at Bluestreak's and Bumblebee's party?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I reply, waving it off. "It was only a minor prank. I heard that the pranksters were in the brig?"

"Yes, they are," he growls. "They should know better. Wheeljack's concoctions are not to be trifled with, that could have been very dangerous."

I make a mental note to myself to look up Wheeljack's file.

"Are you ready to go running?"

In reply, he transforms and create his holoform. It's as gorgeous as it was a few days ago, though now he's dressed in running gear – black sweatpants and grey sweater, hair held back by an elastic band at the back of his head.

"You dressed appropriately," I comment.

"Yes," he says, looks down at himself. "I looked up 'clothes for jogging' on the internet, and this seemed to match."

"Well, then we're both ready," I smile at him. "Come on."

The hallway outside my office ends on the same wall that holds my big window, so I can escape from my office instantly if needed. I know that's why Lennox gave me this office; in case of attack, I can get out and to the nearest bunker easily. The added perk is that the outdoors is never very far off.

"Do you need to warm up?" I ask, turning to Prowl. "I'm sorry, I don't know that much about the holoforms."

"I don't think that's necessary," he replies. "It's solid light, not actual muscle mass."

"Great," I grin, and start jogging in place. "Come on, then."

I set a pace that lets me stretch my legs out, but still allows me to talk should I wish to. Prowl hasn't struck me as the overly talkative type so far, but he's not been very quiet either, and this should free his brain to talk while his body is otherwise occupied. I hope.

"So this is what you do to keep fit?"

There we go.

"Mostly for fun, actually," I reply lightly. "And it's cathartic. I spend all day talking to clients in the office, getting out and running and letting my mind wander freely is a blessing."

"I guess I see the appeal," he says, from somewhere behind and to my right.

I slow down a bit, try to keep next to him. "Life as the Autobot second-in-command taxing?"

"There are trials," he replies smoothly, "but then again, we all have those."

"Certainly." I increase the tempo slightly, see if I can pull him with me. He keeps pace with me easily.

"So what brought you into psychology?" he asks.

"People fascinate me," I reply easily. "Always have. I like to find out what makes them tick, what motivates them, why they act like they do."

"I see. And you specialize in trauma treatment?"

"Yes. Trauma to the body can be repaired, for the most part, but with trauma to the mind you can't function even with a fully functional body. It's very rewarding to be able to give someone the tools to take themselves out of the darkest recesses of their mind and turn back into human beings."

He stares at me. "That's… a very apt description."

I look at him curiously. "You know mental trauma treatment?"

"I've dabbled," he replies. "It comes with the job. We have no few warriors who we've had to talk down from utter destruction, either of themselves or others."

"I guess millennia of war will do that to you," I nod.

"Yes, that too. And some of them came from the deepest, foulest cesspits of our world to begin with," he says quietly. "We had to help them save themselves before they could even function alongside others. My own mate was one such individual."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I reply, in the same quiet tones that he's using. "I know how difficult it is to see loved ones suffer." Suddenly I realize that this, right here, is why Prowl's here with me. Not because of any problems of his own, not because he dislikes using his holoform, but because he's actually been doing the same thing I'm doing. He's dragged his people back from the brink, just as I drag mine. Maybe Prime even sent him for my benefit, not for Prowl's.

"Thank you," he nods. "He was the first one we actually managed to save, and he paved the way for others to come. He's put it behind him now – as much as one can put such a past behind them."

"That's good," I smile. "Is he here?"

"Oh, yes, he is," Prowl grins. He actually grins. "You've even met him."

I raise my eyebrows, look at him. "I have?"

"Yes, you have." Okay, now he's gloating. That has me slightly nervous, I have to admit. "He's Jazz."

Thank heavens that I've been running this same path every day for the last three weeks so my feet know it, because oh my God, I almost fall flat on my face at that. Jazz? Prowl and _Jazz_? I have a seriously hard time reconciling the sex-creature with the smirk and the appraising glance that I saw at the party with this correct, controlled, proper-at-all-times (though, granted, exceptionally beautiful) leader running next to me. Talk about opposites attracting.

Also, thank all the powers that be that I've been surprised before and have learned to conceal it, so I don't just gape at him in shock.

"Oh yes, I did meet him," I reply, smiling. "He seems pleasant. I wouldn't have guessed he carries such demons."

"No, few do," Prowl says, still grinning at me. I get the horrible feeling that this mech knows exactly what's going through my mind. So much for my skills at concealing my emotions. Those perceptive eyes never leave mine, not even to see where he's placing his feet. "He spoke very highly of you."

"Oh? Huh. That's nice of him."

"Yes, he said you were very intelligent. And – and I quote here – that 'the sex-fest didn' throw her off one bit'."

I laugh out loud at that. The mimicry of Jazz's accent is passable. "Well, that's an apt description. Do they always carry on like that?"

"Some of them do," Prowl says wryly. "To be honest, I've given up knocking some sense into them, although Ratchet still tries. I'm just glad we've gotten them to a place where they actually thrive."

I mull those words over for a moment. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker carry demons too, then," I say quietly. "That actually explains a lot."

"Yes. Please don't think that I'm betraying their confidences," he says intently. "This is not well known, but it's no secret either."

"I didn't think you were," I reply, shaking my head. "And of course, anything I discuss with you will not be mentioned to anyone else. Just as if any of the others say something to me, I would not discuss that with you either."

"That's well," he says. "Keeping confidences is valuable."

"It's necessary," I say. "The confidentiality principle is a pillar of my profession. Clients do not feel safe unless they know that what they say is never repeated."

"And unless they feel safe you cannot help them," he nods. "I know what you mean."

"Yes, I suppose that if anyone does, it's you."

We run in silence for a while, me breathing little mist clouds into the air with every other step and him just keeping track with me.

"If you don't mind my asking," he begins after a few moments.

I look at him. "Yes?"

"You said that you know how it is to see loved ones suffer."

I sigh, hearing the question beneath the statement. "My brother. He did two consecutive tours in the Middle East, came back an epic mess. I wish I could say that we could do for him what you did for Jazz." I take a deep breath. "He killed himself. Three years ago."

"I'm so sorry," Prowl says. He sounds like he means it – it's not just a platitude he says because it's what's expected. "That must have been very hard."

I slow down, walking instead of running. "It was a real bitch of a time," I sigh. "Hit me right after I completed my doctorate. And the crazy bit is, I actually thought he was beginning to come back. I thought I saw a positive change in him."

"I've seen similar, in the ones who could not – would not – be helped," Prowl says. "It's as though they decide that they're at least going to make their loved ones as happy as they can before they go."

"Exactly," I agree. "Jeremy was showing an interest in things, he was smiling again, he made plans. And then I found him hanging from the rafters in his loft." I look across at him. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to impose this on you."

"Everyone needs someone to talk to," he replies earnestly, giving me a small smile. "I don't mind being your friend, if that's what you need."

A slight smile. "That sounds like exactly what I need, thanks."

"It must have been rough, being the one to find him," he says softly. I look across at him – some of his hair has come loose from its ponytail, and the breeze is pulling it across his face. His bright blue eyes aren't looking at me, they're focused on something else far in the distance. Or in the past.

"I think you know exactly how hard it was," I agree, almost in a whisper.

"I do," he replies. "Not a brother, though. But yes, I know."

He stops. We've reached the little hilltop overlooking the hangars and barracks – on clear days, I've seen the ocean from here. I pause next to him, looking where he's looking.

"There are so few of us left," he says quietly. "We have no one to lose. Every spark, every mech is significant."

I don't know what to say.

Beneath us, a heavy-set, black mech is drilling a group of soldiers outside one of the hangars. A smaller, blue and white figure is watching, before walking over to the taller one and joining in a mock-up fight. Behind them, along one of the hangar walls, a smallish, yellow figure is talking animatedly to a tall, regal presence I can recognize from here – I don't even need to see the tell-tale red and blue. On one of the lawns, behind the main hangar, a grey mech with flaring doorwings is aiming a large rifle at targets that are too distant for me to see, while another familiar white and red mech is walking from one building to another, carrying something in his hands.

"They're all family," Prowl continues. "Every one of them. No matter the problems they cause, the demons they carry. Each one is dear to me, to us. So yes, I know what you mean."

I look down at the scene unfolding beneath us. "They're good," I say. "I may not know them that well, but I don't have to in order to see that."

"They are," he agrees. He smiles at me. "You know, Jazz was right about you. You're sharp."

I grin. "Heh. Thanks." I look down at my wrist, check the time. "Crap, I have to head back. Listen. I don't think you necessarily need to come see me for any form of help, you've got things under control, but I would really appreciate if we could do this again sometime. It's nice to talk to someone who understands."

"Of course," he nods. "I would like that. I'll plot in a time in your calendar, okay?"

I smile at him. "Great. Thanks. Do you think you can lock yourself out of my office?"

He chuckles. "There's no door on this base I can't unlock."

"Huh. That's… practical, I guess. And scary." I grin. "Good thing you're a decent mech."

He laughs at that. "I'll see you, Isobel."

I nod. "Yeah, Prowl. See you around."

He vanishes in the tell-tale cloud of blue sparks.

I take a breath. The quickest way back to my little apartment is down the hill and through the military base hustle and bustle going on in front of me. I guess I'm going to find out exactly how comfortably I am around these guys, or if the things I told First Aid last night are nothing but hot air.

Running downhill is awesome, and I speed up for the fun of it. Before I know it, I'm among the buildings, skirting the field where Bluestreak is doing his target practice, waving at him and flashing him a grin as I race past, even though I don't know if he's seen me. Next, it's Ironhide and Chromia doing a very different kind of dance than last time I saw them, but no less graceful – each anticipating the other's every move, always countering, sparks flying every time they parry until Chromia has a gun of sorts aimed at Ironhide's neck, grinning at him. I chuckle a bit as I pass them.

As I close up to where Bumblebee and Optimus Prime are standing, I slow to a walk. No need to barrel past the might-as-well-be king of the Autobots as if I've got Decepticons on my tail.

"Good morning, Isobel," he greets me as I approach, and holy crap, that voice is enough to bring a woman to her knees, seriously.

"Good morning, Prime," I call back, grinning at him. "Hey, Bumblebee! We still on for tomorrow?"

"You know it!" The yellow mech crows happily. "I've got Pirates of the Caribbean films!"

"Ooh, good choice!" I grin, turning and walking backwards as I pass them. "Some of my favorites!"

"Bluestreak or somebot will pick you up, okay?" Bumblebee shouts. I give him the thumbs up, and turn around so I can see where I'm going.

Good thing I do, too, or First Aid would have a human entangled around his legs. I dodge him less than gracefully. "Whoops! Morning, First Aid!"

"Hey, Isobel, you okay?"

I grin up at him. "Yeah, I'm good!"

"Great," he says, sounding relieved, visor flashing in the sunlight. "Shouldn't you keep your eyes on your path? I don't want to find you wrapped around a lamppost or a car bumper."

"Deal," I laugh. "That sounds like it would suck, anyway. I like hanging out with you, First Aid, but I'd rather not see the inside of the med bay again just yet. I bet you haven't even installed a TV."

"You got me there," he laughs, a rumble deep in his chest. Holy crap on a cracker, the sounds these creatures make, it can't be benign. "We'll have to hang out elsewhere then."

I grin. "Still up for movie night tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it," he grins back. "Bee says he's gotten some form of historical Earth film about seafarers?"

I laugh, bending almost double, head leaning against his leg. "Oh my God, Aid, you have no idea. That's not even remotely accurate." I straighten after a moment, look up at him again, but I'm still laughing. "I've got to go, okay? Have to shower before my next appointment."

"Sure thing," he says, smiling slightly. "See you around."

"See ya!" I turn, already running.

* * *

There's a large bunch of – well, calling it flowers would be generous. There's a pile of flora waiting for me outside my door.

Granted, I can tell that someone's tried to imitate the Earth custom of flower bouquets – some of the stems seem to have been tied together with cabling, and all the stems and branches are more or less aligned the same way. And yes, there is the occasional dandelion and daisy poking a sorry head through the foliage. But these touches are altogether drowned by what looks like the top half off a cherry tree, at least one rose bush with roots still attached and covered in soil, and several long, slim lilac-like branches. The overall impression is of someone's garden clippings left in a pile. It's completely obstructing my front door.

I look around, but there's no evidence of the flower-giver anywhere. Neither metal hide nor holoform.

Well, crap. I'm sweaty and getting cold, my front door is obscured by vegetation that I would likely need a machete to cut through, and I do not own a machete. Or even basic gardening equipment. And I'm supposed to be back in my office in twenty minutes.

I turn on my heel and go to find help. Luckily, I'm on a base full of big, burly guys and tall, metal aliens, so it shouldn't be too hard to find someone with a bit more muscle mass than me.

Of course, the first person I bump into is female. And pink. I guess that serves me right for thinking in stereotypes.

"Um. Excuse me?"

The tall, pink presence turns, and looks down at me. "Yes?"

"My name is Isobel Harrington. I wonder if you could give me a hand? Someone's dumped a garden's worth of shrubbery in front of my door, and now I can't get into my apartment."

The face above me splits into a grin. "Oh, so that's what they were doing! Sure, no problem. I'm Arcee, by the way." She leans down and holds out a hand, palm up.

"Um." I must look just as confused as I feel, because she giggles. It sounds – interesting.

"If you let me carry you, we get back to your house faster," she says. "And it's easier to talk to you that way."

"Oh. Okay, sure," I nod, climbing on. "So you know who it was that left me all that greenery?" I settle on her palm, legs dangling over the edge, back leaning against her fingers. It's actually a bit fun being carried like this.

She nods, still smiling. "Yes, I saw Skids and Mudflap walking past with arms full of local plant life a while back. I wondered what they were planning."

"Oh," I realize, the lightbulb going off in my head. "It's probably supposed to be an apology, then."

"An apology?" Arcee asks curiously.

"Yes, for landing me in med bay after they spiked the drinks at the party a few days back," I explain lightly. "It wasn't that big of a deal, really."

Arcee's suddenly frowning. "I heard about that. Yes, it was a big deal, actually. I understand that you don't think so, because in Earth settings such an act is mostly harmless. But they took chemicals from Wheeljack's lab, without asking 'Jack about them, and without knowing for sure what the chemicals were meant to do. All they had was Wheeljack talking about how he was trying to create a better sedative for human use, without dangerous side effects, but had stumbled onto something that might be inebriating instead, and they decided to run with it. They know Wheeljack's experiments are volatile at best. They could have poisoned every human at that party fatally."

"Huh," I reply. Suddenly I'm cold again. "I didn't know it was that bad."

"It was," she says grimly. "Ratchet was irate, and First Aid wasn't much better. Prowl was furious. I was actually surprised he's let them out of the brig already, I thought they'd be in there for weeks. Oh!" She stops, grins again. "I guess this is you."

I turn on her hand, get a look at my front door from above. "Yeah," I nod. "Huh. It actually looks better from up here." From higher up, I can tell that the plants have been laid out with some form of plan in mind – the colors complement each other, there's more of a flower bouquet feel to it. It almost looks nice. "Well, they can't be faulted for trying, at least."

"Lack of enthusiasm has never been one of their flaws," Arcee agrees, all traces of earlier seriousness gone. "I can see how you have problems getting into your place again. They didn't really think this through – that, unfortunately, is one of their flaws."

I grin as she starts lowering me down, jumping the last few feet to the ground. "Yeah. I just need to get to the door, really." I poke at one end of my clippings pile. "I don't know what to do about this."

Arcee bends down next to me, examining my pretty pile of plant material. "I guess some of this can be planted back in the ground?"

I shrug. "I have no idea," I say honestly. "I've never had a garden, I don't know how to make one."

"Well, we'll just move everything aside for now then," she decides. "So you can get inside. And then you can talk to the janitors on-base to see if they can remove it."

I nod. "Sounds good. Thank you for helping."

She grins at me. "No problem. I wanted to meet you, anyway."

I look up at her as I start tugging at one of the smaller branches. "You did?"

"Yeah," she nods. "The way Jazz and First Aid talked about you, I figured you could be interesting."

Huh. I must have made a bigger impression than I thought. "They talked about me?"

"I think Jazz thought you were fun," she says, picking up the cherry tree with ease. "He enjoys hanging out with people who can pierce the big picture and see what's going on, and you apparently can. They were discussing your opinion on holofoms."

"My opinion on holoforms?" Hi, I'm Isobel, I'm going to parrot everything you say like I don't have a brain of my own. I groan internally.

"You match mech to form." She turns, grins at me. "Most humans aren't very good at that, certainly not unless they know the mechs in question fairly well."

"Huh." I tug another lilac branch out of the way. "I didn't know that. I guess being trained to identify and recognize tells and facial expressions helps."

"Probably," she agrees easily, pulling more shrubbery out of the way. "There, I think we've almost in the clear now."

I pull my little branch aside and go for the door. What little foliage is left isn't blocking the door anymore.

"Great," I say with relief. I turn to her. "Thank you so much. I have to shower and change, I'm late for going back to the office. Will I see you around?"

She grins. "Why don't I wait for you, and take you to your office afterwards? It's faster than walking." She transforms down to a sleek, glossy motorcycle.

"Wow," I breathe. "Absolutely brilliant."

The motorcycle oozes smugness. I swear, I'm never going to look at regular old vehicles the same again.

* * *

_I'm glad the rest of the day was quiet! At some point I have to find Skids and Mudflap and thank them for the flowers. It was a dumb idea, but I think they meant well. I don't know what they look like, there were no pictures in their files, but I'm bound to run into them at some point. They're twins too. I guess I have to ask Bumblebee or Arcee or First Aid – wow, the rate I'm making friends here, it's novel. None for three weeks, now five or six in three days. Should have talked to the 'bots sooner – if twins in this case means the same as with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Because if it does, I'd like to be warned._

_I'd say I hope tomorrow is less eventful, but tomorrow's movie night. With Bumblebee, Bluestreak, First Aid and whoever else shows up. Arcee said she might come too, she apparently hasn't been here that long and she wants to hang out. So at least there will be another girl there. Not that gender seems to mean that much to these people._

_Heh. I wonder what they'll make of the historical documentary on Earthen seafarers of old._


	6. The opportune moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specific warning for this chapter: thar be SMUT.

_Dear diary,_

_Today is my third Saturday on Diego Garcia. I was aiming to settle into the routine I began establishing the last two Saturdays, but of course Bee's movie night – movie day, rather, I'm being picked up right after lunch – throws that off-kilter._

_Anyway, Saturdays. Sleep long, lazy breakfast, write letters without concrete content to the few and important significant others in my non-naval base life. Take a run, take a shower. Eat lunch, read a book or watch a movie, maybe socialize with the few people I actually know the names of here. Laundry, dinner, go for a walk if the weather's nice. Maybe hit the rec room._

_Keeping a normal five-day eight-to-four work week on a military base is among the absolutely most boring things I've ever done. No wonder the soldiers train a lot, down-time is insanely dull._

_At least today will be less tedious, even though I've seen the films before. The Autobots are always fun._

* * *

Like Bumblebee indicated yesterday, it's Bluestreak standing outside my door.

"Hey, Isobel, are you ready? I'm not early, am I? I can wait if you're not ready, it's no problem."

I grin a bit at the torrent that pours out of his mouth as soon as he opens it, his bright blue eyes nervously wide.

"I'm ready," I reply. "Hey, Bluestreak, good to see you."

"You, too, Isobel!" His face splits in a wide grin and oh my God, there's not a more adorable puppy in the world.

I follow him out the door, and get in his dark grey alt mode. Bluestreak appears in the driver's seat. "So, you ready for movie night, Bluestreak?"

"Absolutely," he grins. "I know Bee said the movies were about pirates, I didn't know Earth had pirates, well, probably not pirates like I'm thinking of them, right? I mean, I'm thinking space pirates, these probably aren't space pirates are they, they're normal Earth pirates, I guess as far as anything is normal about pirates."

I laugh. "Easy, Bluestreak. Yeah, Earth had pirates. But I'm not going to give away the films for you, I'll let you make up your own mind."

"Great," he grins. "You've seen them before then?"

"They're among my favorite films," I agree. "So if you guys don't like them, I may have to take you to task on it."

He laughs at that.

It's so much easier hitching a ride with Bluestreak than with Sideswipe. Granted, Bluestreak has not shut up since he showed up at my door, but at least he doesn't leer, shoot me glances he thinks I don't see, or make suggestive comments. He's nice.

"So I saw you at the shooting range yesterday," I comment in a rare break between sentences. "Did you hit your targets?"

"I always do," he grins, a little smugly. "I'm the best."

"Good thing you're on our side then," I grin. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he nods, "anything you want. Well, not anything. I mean, you can ask anything you want, but I can't tell you anything you want to know, some of it may be secret or something, and I know you have high human clearance or you wouldn't have been here, but I don't know how much Optimus wants you to know."

"Relax." I giggle. "It's nothing like that. I bet it's something all the Autobots already know. I just noticed that you and Prowl look very similar, both in bipedal mode and holoforms, and I wondered why."

"Oh, I see. Yeah, that's not secret at all. And it's good to remember how little you know I guess, you act so naturally around us that it's easy to forget that you don't know everything already." He grins. "We look similar because we've got the same frame type, we're both Praxians. Meaning we both come from the city state called Praxus. As for the holoforms… Well, I copied his. That's why those look the same. I just changed the hair a bit."

"Why did you copy his?" I ask curiously. It's weird to me – is it a tribute, or an act of jealousy? The closest comparison I can come up with is if my friend who already looked like me decided to copy my wardrobe as well, down to every detail. Something tells me that that's not the right sentiment.

"I had problems finding a holoform that felt right," he says easily, shrugging. "And when I saw Prowl's, I asked if I could copy it. It feels like me. I don't know why it should fit right for him too, we're not very similar, so if it's the right fit for me it shouldn't be right for him. But he hasn't changed it, so I guess it is okay for him too. Or he just doesn't bother."

"Hold up for a moment. Back up a bit." I hold up my hand, frowning. "The right fit? You're telling me that the holoforms are more than design choices?"

He grins. "You don't know that either, huh? Yes, there's more. These forms express what we're like, how we would look as humans. So if we don't get it right, it doesn't feel right."

"That can't be correct." I frown again. "Then why don't you all look more normal?"

He laughs. "Well, we do tweak them a bit. No sense in making ourselves look less than attractive, is there? And some tweak a lot." He shoots me a sly glance. "Guess who."

"Um. Prowl's is unearthly, but I guess he had help doing that." Bluestreak grins, nodding. "By extension, yours is too," I continue, "but you just copied it so I guess it doesn't count. But Sideswipe and Sunstreaker must have done something extra with theirs… I'm not sure about Jazz, because it might just be magnetism." I pause for a moment. "Optimus and First Aid look fairly normal. First Aid said that Bumblebee has rigged his somehow."

Bluestreak laughs. "Yeah, Bee likes the innocent look. And you're mostly right about the others." His alt mode slows to a stop. "We're here."

I look out. "Not the rec room?"

He shakes his head, smiling. "Nah, Bee badgered Lennox into letting us use the conference room. He's spent all day carrying couches and cushions and such in there. And Blaster and Rewind have set up the big screen."

As I get out of his alt mode, I stop to take in the building in front of me. It probably started its life as a regular army barracks – heck, I bet it lived its life quite innocently as a normal army building as late as yesterday. But now…

"Wow," I comment. "When Bee arranges a movie night, he really arranges a movie night. Where did he get all this stuff?"

Bluestreak appears next to me, smirking. "Oh, a bit from here and a bit from there. We've been borrowing stuff from everywhere all day. Wheeljack's been in on it, too. Does it look right?"

"Yeah," I breathe. "This, you got right."

There are large movie posters plastered over the dull, grey-green planking of the walls. Neon symbols – or something similar, it looks a bit like neon but not quite – are hanging over the entryway, which has been surrounded by fluted, golden columns supporting a baldachin of red and white stripes.

I look up at the glowing writing. "You know, I can't read that?"

Bluestreak chuckles. "They're Cybertronian glyphs. The first glyph means magic, or adventure, depending on inflection and dialect. And then it spells out your name."

I stare. " _My_ name?"

"Yeah. The full meaning is 'Magic for Isobel', or something approximately like that."

"Stories for Isobel," a voice corrects from behind me. I turn to see First Aid standing there. "In the Iacon dialect, that glyph is 'stories', not 'magic'." He flashes me a shy grin. "Hi."

"Hi." I grin back at him, take in his looks. "You changed."

He bends his head, looks down at himself. The light pants have been replaced by dark, stressed jeans, and he's wearing a tight-fitting red and white t-shirt with the autobot symbol etched in silver stripes across the front. Capped with a dark jacket, his hair tied back in a loose ponytail, and those ever-present shades, he looks hot. Very hot. He looks up at me, blue eyes bright under dark eyelashes. "Yeah. This feels more right, somehow. You like it?"

I nod. "Looks good on you."

The grin I get for that could melt an iceberg. Seriously.

I turn towards the impromptu movie theater again. "So what on Earth possessed Bumblebee to name his theater after me?"

Bluestreak shrugs. "You'll have to ask him." His bubbly, childlike personality comes to the forefront again, and he takes my hand, pulling me along. "Come on, Isobel, let's go inside!"

I turn, make sure First Aid is following us, before I let Bluestreak tug me along into the Autobot version of Odeon.

Bluestreak wasn't kidding. They must have been carrying furniture all day. I'd guess that the large room originally held desks, chairs, all the shebang needed for strategic meetings and such. Now, there are couches. There are cushions. The floor is covered with a multitude of plush carpets in all colors. Along the back wall, a large screen and very sophisticated-looking sound system has been set  
up. And in the middle of it, a blonde, brilliantly smiling young figure is bouncing excitedly on his toes.

"Hey, Isobel!" Bumblebee grins widely. "Welcome to movie night!"

"Bumblebee, I am seriously impressed!" I look around. "Hey, you even got popcorn!"

"Are you kidding?" He snickers. "That was the simple bit. Come on." He pulls at my hand, drags me along to the big red sofa in the center of the room.

I sit down carefully. This sofa is huge – it's almost the size of three beds next to each other. Bumblebee plops down next to me, and Bluestreak climbs the back of the sofa to sit behind him.

"So when's the movie starting?" I ask as First Aid sits down next to Bumblebee.

"We're going to wait for Arcee and Blaster," Bumblebee replies, leaning back against Bluestreak. "Arcee's coming as soon as she finishes her shift, in… oh, about five minutes ago." He grins. "So she'll be here soon."

"And Blaster?" I'm curious. I haven't met Blaster yet.

"Blaster's right here," a voice says from behind me. I turn to see a tall, dark stranger. Yep, an actual one of those. He's good-looking, but the same way that First Aid is – not over the top. Short, dark curly hair, chocolate skin, dark sunglasses that he pushes up with one elegant, long-fingered hand until they're resting in his hair, big earphones with the Autobot symbol hanging round his neck. "You must be Isobel."

"I must be, at that," I reply, and smile. "Nice to meet you, Blaster."

"Blaster's our sound guy," Bumblebee puts in. "For tonight, anyway. Usually, he's communications."

Bluestreak stretches over the back of the couch, looks around. "Where are the cassettes?"

"Took one look at the movie covers, and opted out," Blaster grins.

I must look just as dumbfounded as I feel at that, because First Aid takes pity on me. "Blaster has symbiont Autobots, Rewind and Eject. Usually they're stored in a compartment on his chest, but he lets them out when they want."

Okay. That didn't really help.

Bumblebee laughs, touches my shoulder. "You can meet them another time, and we can explain better then." He turns to look at the doorway. "Now, it's just Arcee we're waiting for."

"And I'm here," a woman's voice says, before the figure that belongs to the voice comes skating in through the doorway on pink rollerblades.

Arcee's gorgeous. She's got wavy blonde hair tied back in a ponytail just like Chromia's, but where Chromia was dressed in dark clothing when I saw her Arcee's bright and shiny. Her top mimics First Aid's shirt, white with pink side panels and silver Autobot emblem on the front, and she's wearing turquoise and silver tights. The overall effect feels like she should look like an eighties Aerobics Barbie, but somehow she manages not to, and I can't pinpoint how. I'm sure that if I wore the same, an eighties Barbie is exactly what I would look like. It must be the Autobot magnetism or something.

"Hey, Arcee!" Bumblebee grins at her. "Looking good!"

"Thanks!" The blonde grins back. "I'm trying out a new look!"

Blaster eyes her up and down. "'S a good look."

She smirks as she makes an extra round around him, showing off, before speeding around the sofa and plopping down next to me. Her rollerblades melt away to blue sparks. "Glad you like, but I don't think it's permanent, so don't get used to it, okay? I like the blades, but the rest doesn't fit right." She grins at me. "I guess only Isobel should look like Isobel."

The look on my face is not at all attractive, I can tell. "You modeled your holoform after me?"

She stretches, shows it off. "Yeah! Can't you tell?"

"Um." I look her over. "I'm flattered, I guess. But I don't think I could look like that."

"Wanna bet?" Blaster grins at me, then leans over and touches my shoulder. And suddenly I'm wearing the exact same outfit as Arcee is, complete down to the rollerblades. I hear a sharp intake of breath from First Aid's end of the sofa.

"What the blazes…?" I stare down at myself, touch my leg gingerly. It feels like spandex, even though I know I left home wearing jeans.

"Relax," Blaster says. "I jus' fixed her look on top of your own. 'S not permanent or anythin'. But if I stay nearby I can make it last the night." He grins. "Like Cinderella."

"Awesome," Bumblebee breathes.

Arcee giggles, rollerblades back in place on her feet too. "Come on, up you get!" She pulls me to my feet, steadies me until I catch my balance.

"This is insane. You know what the fashion industry would pay for this kind of tech?" I exclaim, turning carefully on my skates. They feel solid enough. "How did you do this?"

Blaster winks at me. "Trade secret. Sorry."

"Nah, it's the holoform tech," Arcee says, grinning at him. "He just extended it. He does that for the cassettes too, they don't have their own holomatter generators."

I look down at myself. Definitely Aerobics Barbie. "Huh. Should be a hit for Halloween. You know I would never wear something like this otherwise."

"Halloween?" Bumblebee asks curiously. He pauses for a moment, seems to turn his focus inwards, before squealing excitedly. "Oh, we've _got_ to celebrate Halloween!"

I hold up my hand. "Oh no you don't. Don't start planning that now, that's weeks away."

Bluestreak mock-punches Bumblebee's shoulder. "Yeah. And now, I want to watch the pirate movie. Blaster, could you fix it?"

"You know it," the darkly handsome Autobot grins. Suddenly, the lights are dimmed, and the big screen lights up. Arcee pushes me down into the sofa again and plops down besides me as Blaster vaults over the back of the sofa and drops into the corner. "Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

"Take a walk," Bumblebee snickers, as the first words of the end titles scroll over the screen. "Brilliant."

Bluestreak wrinkles his nose. "Is that really what you humans look like inside? That's disgusting."

I grin at them both. "No, Bluestreak, those are CGI zombies." I tilt my head slightly, think it over. "Actually, yeah, probably. I mean, partial soft tissue decomposition… I buy it."

"Nasty."

Bumblebee twists from where he's been lying back against Bluestreak's torso. "So, the next one?"

"Right away?" I ask, grinning as he nods eagerly.

Arcee leans in and puts her chin on my shoulder. "I'm going to go over to another couch with Blaster. You guys talk too much during the movie."

"Uh-huh, sure," I giggle. I did notice how Blaster's hands were moving over that smooth spandex all the way through the first film. "Enjoy the next one."

She pecks my cheek and skates over to a blue couch in the corner, pulling Blaster along without actually touching him. He winks at me as he walks off, and the spandex on my own legs disappear in my very own cloud of blue sparks. I giggle. "That is so cool."

First Aid chuckles at me over Bumblebee's legs, and I scoot back to lean against the back of the couch.

"So do you guys think Blaster will remember to put on the next film when Arcee's distracting him?" I grin at the surprised look on Bumblebee's face. "Oh, come on. You didn't notice that?" I poke him playfully. "I thought you were supposed to be observant."

"Well, you probably had a better viewpoint than me," he pouts. "Plus, I was watching the movie."

Someone leans over me from behind the sofa, elbows on my shoulders and hands supporting their chin on my head. Bumblebee twists to see who it is, grinning at them. "Hey, you guys made it just in time."

"Sideswipe, get off my head," I say sternly.

"Aw, no fair! How did you know it was me?" He leans forward over my head so I can see his face upside down – his dark hair drops into those gorgeous blue eyes.

"No one else I know has such a blatant disrespect for personal boundaries," I reply tartly.

He laughs, jumps over the back of the sofa like Blaster and Bluestreak did and settles next to me. What is it with these Autobots and the need to act like teenagers? Sunstreaker follows languidly and at least he's behaving, gliding around the edge of the sofa and sitting down next to his brother/lover.

"Hey, Isobel," a low, smooth voice greets from behind me. "I brought you dinner; Lennox reminded me that you needed to eat."

I twist around, nudging Sideswipe aside slightly, to see Mirage crossing the floor, gliding across it almost as liquidly as Sunstreaker did. He moves like a male model, and he looks it too, with that black tousled hair over the trademark blue eyes and the black designer stubble gracing his chin and cheeks. He's changed out of the grey t-shirt he was wearing at the party and into a red shirt that's unbuttoned over a white t-shirt and snug black pants.

I do not drool. But I do have slight problems with my breathing. Mirage has some of the same stuff going for him as Jazz does – it's hard to look away.

He walks around the couch and looks pointedly at Sideswipe, who flashes him a grin and moves closer to Sunstreaker. Mirage sits down in the vacant space next to me, and hands me a wrapped-up baguette.

"Thanks." I peel off the paper and nibble at the end without looking at what I'm eating.

"Oi, Blaster! Put on the next one already!" Bumblebee calls, flashing me a cheeky grin.

"You got it, lil'Bee!" Blaster calls back.

Arcee's supposed reason to switch couches makes sense, even though she probably had another reason as well. Bumblebee has problems keeping his mouth shut for more than two scenes at the time, and Bluestreak is even worse. They keep up a running commentary to everything they see on the screen. Soon, Sunstreaker pushes his brother out of his lap, and gets up to drag him over to another couch. I'm left with the two prattlers, Mirage and First Aid – First Aid somehow manages to keep his attention on the movie despite Bumblebee talking constantly right next to his ear.

When we hit a new break between films, Bumblebee gets up and walks off, letting Bluestreak slide forward again to sit next to First Aid instead of behind him. I grin at Bumblebee's face when he comes back to see his perch's moved. He's utterly adorable when he's pouting.

He notices me grinning and smirks. "Here. Got you popcorn." He hands me a megasized bucket of the stuff, the size normally meant to share.

"Wow. Um, thanks." I take it from him gingerly – he's filled it up to the brim.

Bumblebee looks down at Bluestreak again. "You had to move, huh?"

"You're heavy, mech, even in this form," Bluestreak replies. "It wasn't that comfortable, being your pillow. Maybe you should try, I don't know, an actual pillow? Maybe that would be better?" He grins.

Bumblebee huffs dramatically, and looks at Mirage. "Mind moving into the corner, Raj? And Isobel, mind following him?"

We move aside, and Bumblebee throws himself back down on the sofa – lengthwise. That puts his feet in First Aid's lap and his torso leaning up against me. And Bluestreak is right, that is one heavy holoform. I grunt as I'm pushed back against Mirage.

There's a bit of jostling. Somehow, I end up sideways in the sofa, leaning back against Mirage's torso with my legs stretching over behind Bluestreak's back, my feet almost touching First Aid's hip. Bumblebee's lying in front of me on the sofa, head on Mirage's lap and feet on Bluestreak's.

"I'm not a pillow, either," Mirage says dryly.

"Well, that's too bad," Bumblebee chuckles in reply. "If Isobel's leaning on you, I can lean on you."

"Yes, but you're heavy. She's not," Mirage says. First Aid snorts at that and Bluestreak is grinning. Bumblebee just pouts, before moving around to put his head on Bluestreak and his feet curled up between us, no part of him in contact with Mirage.

That seems to please Mirage, judging by the quiet chuckle near my ear as he leans towards me. "You're also soft and smooth and smell nice," he whispers in my ear. "So I'd like to keep you right here." I freeze, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He winks at me.

These Autobots are all crazy.

Despite this not quite unexpected realization, I soon manage to lose myself in the movie again. Bumblebee and Bluestreak have quieted down a bit, letting the rest of us enjoy the film in moderate peace. Blaster turns the volume up on the film, too – though I suspect that has more to do with the need to drown out the slight sounds coming from the two other occupied couches. Apparently, there's no need to get a room when there are perfectly good sofas in a dark room already.

I guess the owners of these sofas should be happy that the holoforms are solid light and don't have bodily fluids.

And holy creepers, I wish I'd never thought that thought. And I can't un-think it. Ugh, I feel the need to wash out my brain now.

A while out into the movie, Mirage sneaks his arm around my waist. As I tense up, he leans down and whispers in my ear again.

"Relax, darling. I'm not dangerous." I can hear the smile in his voice.

Yeah, sure, relax. He's not the one being hit on by a member of an alien species. At least, I think he's hitting on me… These guys are so all over the place in their relations, I have no idea what the norm is. I mean, Arcee and Blaster are not a regular thing as far as I can tell from Bumblebee's reaction, but they're still banging bumpers in the couch over in the corner without much other instigation than that Arcee happened to look good in spandex.

I decide to ignore Mirage's arm. It's not doing anything at the moment, so I pretend it isn't there. After all, it's just solid light, right?

I manage to keep that thought until solid light starts playing with my hair. He leans down towards my ear again. "I feel like I should clarify my intentions. I think you're very beautiful, Isobel. And I'd like to get to know you better."

Suddenly, I'm glad it's dark in here and the others can't see me, because he's definitely flirting in a strange, alien way and I'm seriously blushing. This is so weird. I thought I'd gotten used to their bizarre behavior by now, but I didn't expect that it would be aimed towards me! How should I react to this? Why is he even interested? We're not the same species, even though we look it right now… And I don't even know what his bipedal mode looks like!

Then again, his bipedal mode isn't pulling oh-so-gently at my hair, twirling it around strong, sure fingers. His bipedal mode isn't nuzzling carefully at my neck; discreetly, so the others don't see, but still insistently. His bipedal mode isn't pulling me gently backwards until I'm leaning against his chest, giving his mouth access to my ear and cheek instead of the back of my neck. His bipedal mode isn't teasing one finger down my left arm until it finds my hand, and then weaves his fingers in with mine as his other hand gently, slowly rubs little circles over my hip bone.

Oh my God. Oh my frakkin' God.

The movie is suddenly not that interesting.

I manage to keep my eyes on the big screen, somehow, though I'm not taking in a minute of it. I'm not even catching the odd comment still coming from Bumblebee. Every iota of attention I have is focused on Mirage's nimble fingers.

And oh, can he use his fingers. They wander back up my arm, stroke gently over my throat and neck, tug softly at my hair. The other arm stays around my waist, not that that's stopping the fingers… They probe and touch gently at my hip, stroke over my stomach, at one point lift to run a thumb over my cheek and across my lips. And all the while, while his fingers are exploring, he's gently moving his face along my head – nuzzling, smelling my hair, nipping at my hair and ear with those smooth, soft lips.

He's got me trembling. And I don't care anymore that he's an alien. I don't think about the fact that this body of his isn't a body in the truest sense of the word. It doesn't matter that he can only feel this and touch me like this because he's installed extra sensitivity protocols in his metallic mind. I'm absorbed in the moment.

The movie ends.

"Isobel, are you falling asleep?" his voice asks softly. "It is getting late."

I look up at him incredulously. He has to be aware of how hard my heart is beating, and that there is no way in hell that I'm falling asleep.

He notice my look and winks at me.

Oh. _Oh_.

Oh, now I'm definitely tired. Totally.

I sit up carefully, try to act normal. "Yeah, you know what, I am." I look over at the others. "Oh. That's adorable."

Bumblebee's fallen asleep on First Aid's lap. He's curled up like a child.

I grin at First Aid. "I'm going to leave now," I whisper. "I had fun tonight." I nod towards the sleeping youngster. "How are you going to solve that?"

He smiles at me. "I'll wake him in a few moments, get him to dismiss his holoform. Or I'll just dismiss my own, and he can stay here. Do you need a lift home?"

"Don't worry about it," I whisper. "Mirage can take me. I'll see you around, okay?"

He nods, a flash of something there and gone in his eyes before I can analyze it. His smile slips a little. "Oh. Okay, then. I'll see you, Isobel."

"G'night, Isobel," Bluestreak murmurs, grinning at me.

"Night, Bluestreak," I whisper, smiling. "Thanks for today."

Then I turn and head for the door. As soon as I'm outside, I can feel Mirage's arms around me. He turns me towards him.

I didn't notice before, he's about a head taller than me. I'm very aware of it now, as those long fingers take hold of my chin and tilt my head back so he can press his lips against mine. His tongue runs swiftly over my lower lip, making me gasp into the kiss – and when he bites that same lip gently, holy mother of…

My knees stop functioning. If he hadn't been holding me up, I would be on the ground.

He breaks the kiss, moving his lips up to my forehead and eyelids. "Back to your place?" he murmurs.

I manage a nod. "Yeah."

He puts his arm around my waist, guiding me towards a sleek, low sports car whose color I can't tell in the dark. The doors open before we get to it.

"This is you?" I ask, a little breathlessly.

He chuckles. I have shivers down my spine at the sound. "This is me."

Huh. Should have expected him to be sexy in that form too.

And wouldn't you know, he can multitask. Because as soon as we're both in the car, he pulls me onto his lap, running the driver's seat all the way back, and I know there's no way he can see the road in that position. Plus, his hands are busy, one of them sneaking under my shirt in the back to run fingers down my spine, the other rubbing up and down my leg. All the while with the engine running (with a sound that goes straight to my ovaries), and dark scenery flashing by outside the window.

Mirage kisses me again, hungrily.

I barely notice when we stop outside my little apartment. I'd like to say that it's because the ride is so smooth… But more likely it's because Mirage has a firm grip around my waist with one arm, and the other hand is warm around my neck, and oh, that tongue in my mouth, I'm blind to the world. I do notice that he picks me up easily and carries me to my front door – and briefly, I remember another who carried me in his arms a few days ago, they're all so freakishly strong - and then I'm put back on the ground.

"Your door is locked," he whispers, mouth moving on my neck.

Oh. Yeah, that's probably something I have to sort out, isn't it.

I twist in his grip, manage to get the door opened and move inside. Run a quick mental checklist of the state of my apartment as I left it earlier in the day; no dishes left out, no dirty laundry left out, bedlinen changed recently. Check.

Mirage comes up behind me, runs his hands down the side of my hips as his mouth dives down to my neck again. The door closes behind him, and suddenly his hands are under my shirt, trailing patterns on my stomach, fingers teasing along the inside of the jeans lining, and his mouth is gliding down towards my shoulder, kissing and nibbling and ooooh…

Breathing is difficult.

As Mirage gently starts pulling my shirt up, I twist in his grip so that I'm facing him as he tugs it over my head and drops it to the ground. He stands back for a moment, his blue eyes glowing faintly in the dark.

"You're gorgeous," he breathes, leaning in to kiss me again. I move closer to him, stepping into the kiss, and now I dare to reciprocate – my hands find the edge of his white t-shirt, sneak underneath to trace warm, smooth skin, fingers running over defined abs and up his chest and suddenly his t-shirt is gone in a cloud of blue sparks.

It must be so practical, being a holoform.

He picks me up again, my legs slung around his hips and his hands supporting my thighs, lips moving against mine.

"Bedroom?" he breathes.

"Door to the left," I whisper back, going for his mouth again, teasing and nibbling gently at that lower lip. He groans, hands tightening on my legs, mouth moving aggressively against mine.

In the tiny part of my mind that's still functional, I silently send Lennox thanks for providing me with a double bed.

Mirage puts me down gently, following me onto the bed, legs on either side of my hips, mouth moving from mine and placing small kisses down my throat, hands pulling my own hands up over my head. He gathers my wrists in one of his hands, and the other slips in underneath my back and deftly loosens the bra clasp.

I wonder idly how many human women he's taken to bed, since he can pull that off so easily, but then he tugs the bra up and slides it off my arms, and his mouth descends on one nipple, and all ability to think coherently goes out the window.

I gasp and arch into his touch, and he chuckles quietly. "So eager. I like it."

"Well, you were teasing me for over an hour," I mumble, breathless.

"Couldn't keep my hands off," he murmurs, licking and sucking at the nipple. The hand not cuffed around my wrists moves down to my other breast, squeezing gently, thumb rolling across the nipple. "You're so tempting."

In the position I'm in, I can't touch him at all. He's got control of my arms, he's locked up my legs, and there's no way I can reach him with my mouth. I'm stuck, all I can do is moan.

It's such a turn-on, it's incredible.

But I can't lie still like this, not with those lips gently nuzzling at that nipple, and the other hand moving around tracing patterns across both nipple and breast, moving along the edge of a rib, drawing circles across my stomach, finding the top of my hip bones over the edge of the jeans, oh my gods, that touch… I whimper, throwing my head from side to side, pushing my hips towards him eagerly.

He laughs quietly, the exhalation doing strange things to my nipple. "Easy, darling," he purrs. "I'm not quite done with this one yet."

"Tease," I groan, pulling against the hold on my hands. Not that it helps much.

"Yes," he chuckles. "But that's half the fun." He gives the nipple another lick, but his free hand moves down to loosen the buttons of my jeans. "If I release your hands, can you lie still?"

"Why?" I murmur, arching my back against his touch.

"Because I ask you to."

"I don't know," I breathe. "That's asking a lot of my self-control."

He laughs, planting tiny kisses down my stomach, licks at my navel. "I can tie you up, if you prefer. But it's more fun if you manage on your own accord."

I gasp, tremors running through me at the light touches. "No bondage."

"Shame." That tongue runs over my stomach again, tracing my hipbones, as one hand tugs gently at my jeans. "I could make you squeal."

"Squealing is undignified," I pant. "Oh my God."

He chuckles. "Lie still." Then he lets go of my hands and moves to sit between my legs.

One of his arms push in under my hips, lifting me up, while the other pull at my jeans and underwear until both garments are hanging around my thighs. Then he grabs both my ankles and hike my legs up until they're lined up with his stomach, letting him pull the rest of my clothes all the way off.

I spare a moment to be glad I shaved my legs recently.

Especially once Mirage lets my left leg down, and puts his mouth to my right ankle. He's still holding on to my knee, keeping my leg straight, and he plants tiny kisses and kitten licks all the way down the inside of my leg.

"Oh my – oh God," I whimper, trying hard to keep still but not managing to keep the tremors out of my voice.

"You like this, darling?" He chuckles, pushing both hands under my ass again and lifting. "That's good. I do, too."

Suddenly, there's warm, firm pressure against my clit. I gasp and push against the touch, only realising as the touch moves that Mirage is using his tongue.

"Hmm, I like your taste," he muses, sounding for all the world as if he's at a wine tasting or something. "You're exquisite."

One finger strokes gently across the center of me, and I moan, arching my back.

"Now now, lie still, darling." His mouth is back on me, prodding and licking and then sucking, oh my God, it feels absolutely divine and I can't keep still anymore, I press my hips against him, trying to keep my arms stretched over my head, gritting my teeth and keening loudly.

He chuckles quietly against me, tongue teasingly flitting across the most tender spots. I groan, legs snaking around him, trying to pull him closer, but I might as well have been trying to pull a boulder, because he's not moving until he wants to.

"Please," I pant, twisting and pushing against him. "Please, Mirage…"

"Please, hmm? Well, I can't say no to such a polite request, can I?" Another lick. "Especially from someone who looks so amazing."

The next moment, his lips are on mine. I kiss him back eagerly, arms completely forgetting their place and entwining around his neck, pulling him closer. Briefly, I can taste myself on his tongue – it feels strange, but is quickly forgotten as those hands pull me up and pulls me across him until I'm straddling his hips, a hot line of pressure up against my stomach.

"Up you get," he whispers, one hand on each of my butt-cheeks, lifting me up and impaling me on him.

I throw my head back, whimpering.

"Easy, darling," he murmurs against my throat, bending to nibble lightly at one nipple. His strong arms lift me again, not letting me move on my own, instead letting him thrust into me, and oh my God I can't breathe, I can't think, he's thrusting into me and I can feel every move he makes and oh, he goes deep, one finger moving up to rub my clit and the other arm supporting my weight, and I feel like I might implode.

Suddenly he twists with me, and I'm back on my back on the bed, Mirage lifting my legs up against his torso again and pounding into me, hard, and I scream until he muffles it with his mouth, tongue tracing my lips, one finger still moving and manipulating that one hotspot.

I hit orgasm so hard I almost stop breathing.

"That's it," he breathes, panting a bit now too. "But I'm not done yet."

Somehow, he manages to flip me until I'm lying on my stomach, legs on either side of his hips, and he moves again, gently pushing in, pulling out. I bite down on my pillow to stop screaming.

"Just as lovely from this side," he grunts, and then he's moving faster, harder, and his finger is back, and I push back against it, and ooooooooooh….

The second orgasm feels as strong as the first, and my pillow muffles my screaming as Mirage freezes against my body, groaning, hands holding my hips so hard it almost hurts, but it's a good pain.

After an eternity, he gently lowers me down on the bed and pulls out to lie next to me. He leans in and kisses my nose, and I look up at him questioningly. It's about all I have the energy for at the moment.

"I knew it was worth it to get to know you better," he grins.

I smile back as my eyes slide shut again. The last thing I notice is the duvet placed over me, and that one hand tracing patterns on my back. "Sleep well, Isobel."


	7. Consensual rhythm

When I wake up, I'm alone. And I'm sore. Apparently, it's been a while.

There's a note on the pillow next to me.

'Darling,' it reads. 'I'm sorry that you're waking up alone. I don't recharge well in holoform, so I had to leave. Thank you for last night. I hope we can see each other again. Mirage.'

Huh. That's kind of… impersonal. But I don't know, maybe that's how they do things.

Anyway, it was a good night. Great, even. Even though I feel slightly like I've been run over by a truck.

Or maybe a low-slung sports car. I giggle quietly to myself.

A shower does wonders for my sore muscles, and once I'm dressed, I stick the note in my pocket and head for the mess hall. I know that the one I'd like to talk to isn't there, but someone will know her location, I'm sure.

Turns out, I don't have to look. Arcee, tall and pink today, falls into step with me when I'm still within view of my own apartment.

"Good morning," she grins.

"Hey, Arcee. Good night last night?" I smirk up at her.

"You know it," she laughs. "Blaster's good in all his forms, it turns out."

I giggle. "You and him a regular thing?"

"No, not really," she replies. "We've interfaced before, but not many times." She pokes me carefully with one finger. "What about you and Mirage?"

"What? But… how do you know?" I sputter, stopping to look up at her.

She bends, lets me climb up to sit in her hand so she can lower her voice.

"I saw him kiss you outside the building," she admits, smiling slightly. "Don't worry," she adds, noticing the look of panic that has to be clear on my face. "I don't think anyone else saw, I was the only one looking that way at the time." She chuckles throatily. "Blaster was – busy. And the twins never have eyes for anyone but each other anyway."

I sigh in relief, slumping slightly on her hand. "That's a relief. Don't tell anyone, will you?"

She frowns. "Why not? What did you two do?"

"Probably exactly what you think," I giggle. "But I think it was a one-time thing, and I'm not sure he wants anyone else to know."

"Sounds like Mirage," she agrees. "He's actually a fairly private mech."

I pull out the note left on my pillow and show it to her.

"Yes, that seems like him," she agrees, looking over the note cursorily. Then she looks at me. "You seemed surprised, yesterday. Why? Weren't you expecting him to make advances?"

I shrug, raise my eyebrows. "I wasn't expecting _anyone_ to make advances, Arcee. We're different _species_. Granted, we work together well, and there are mutual benefits to be had, but sex?" I shake my head. "Wouldn't have seen that one coming for a Cybertronian's lifespan, even. It didn't occur to me that any of you might see humans that way."

"Really? Huh." She tilts her head, taps one finger against her lips. "I can't speak for the others, of course, but I'm not surprised at all. We appreciate the humans' looks just as you appreciate ours, I think, in any of our modes." Then she flashes me a decidedly naughty grin. "Lennox in particular is pleasing. What's the term you humans use? Sexy?"

I gape, and have to catch myself before stumbling. "Lennox? Seriously?"

She tilts her head again, looks down at me. "You don't think so?"

"No, that's not it, I'm just flabbergasted that you do." A brief idea of Arcee's holoform from last night pressing against Lennox invade my thoughts before I manage to banish it kicking and screaming to the back of my mind. "Lennox is – okay, yeah, sexy. But then again I've always been a sucker for a man in a uniform."

She laughs loudly at that, a chime of clear bells that echo between the barracks walls around us. "Sexy," she repeats, grinning at me.

"You know it," I confirm, answering with a smile of my own.

"Who's sexy?" The voice startles me, and I twist in Arcee's palm to see a silver Autobot with a shiny blue visor not unlike First Aid's coming up behind us. "Are you two beautiful femmes talkin' bout me?"

I had him pegged at the demeanor, and the accent cinches it. I look up at him with a wide grin. "No, Jazz, we were talking about Ironhide."

Arcee laughs again, hard enough that the palm I'm sitting on is shaking slightly.

Jazz looks devastated. "No. Say it ain't so."

"Well, he's got those biiiig cannons," I muse, finger against my lips like Arcee's were earlier. "And I know he can move, I've seen him on the dancefloor."

"No no, that wasn't dancing! I'm way better'n he is, seriously, y'ain't seen nothin' yet." The song by the same name blasts out of his speakers, top volume, and Jazz does an intricate Jackson-y routine on the path next us.

I grin. "I don't know, Jazz, that all you got?" It's way too much fun messing with this mech, particularly when he's not in his horribly distracting sexy holoform.

Jazz speeds up and spins around to stand in front of us, turning the music off again. He holds up his hand, gently picking me up and lifting me up until I can look into his eyes comfortably. "Oh, you's a little sparkbreaker, Isobel." Pouting, a dejected cast to his shoulders, he turns towards Arcee. "Now 'Cee, ya know that ain't right." He spoils the kicked-puppy effect by shooting Arcee a crooked grin.

"I don't know," she replies, a cheeky smile on her face. "Chromia says 'Hide's awesome in berth. He really knows how to use his equipment."

Jazz drops to his knees dramatically. "No! I refuse to be beaten by Ironhide! Y'all need to bring in other testimony."

"Oh?" I smirk up at him, my stomach still stabilizing after that ten-foot descent – I don't think he realizes what his dropping to his knees would feel like for me, stuck in his fist. "Should we talk to Prowl?"

"Nah, Prowler'd never spill the beans on stuff like that," he grins. "Mah mech is private. Speakin' of him, Isobel, I owe you thanks."

I frown, as he stands back up. "Thanks? Why?"

He winks at me, one side of the visor going dark for a moment. "'Cause Prowler's suddenly willin' to try out his holoform in a whole lot o' interestin' ways."

"My God, what is it with you guys and sex?" I explain, twisting to take in both him and Arcee. "How in the world do you manage to fight a war when fucking is all you think about?"

"Fragging," Jazz corrects. "Consider this, sweetspark. We're always fightin' those pit-damned Cons off, have been for longer'n your race've been walkin' upright. So we take our pleasure where we can find it, when we can find it, in whatever form we can find it to remind ourselves of who we are, what we mean to each other an' what we're fightin' for."

A lightbulb goes off over my head. "Oh, I get it. You're reaffirming your social bonds through intercourse."

"Interface," he corrects me again. "But yeah, sounds 'bout right."

"Well, that certainly makes more sense," I nod. The interactions I've witnessed in the last few days are suddenly cast in a different light. Doesn't make Mirage's actions towards me last night any less confusing, though, since I'm not an Autobot – I'm not even Cybertronian.

"'Course, we also like to enjoy ourselves," Jazz continues, smirking at me.

Oh. This 'bot is a mind reader.

I twist in his fist. Being squeezed around the middle is beginning to get uncomfortable. "Uh, Jazz? Can you let me go now?"

"No can do, sweetspark," he grins triumphantly. "Ya's ours, now."

"Oh?" I ask apprehensively. That doesn't bode well. "And what are you going to do with me?"

"Oh, all manner of vile things," he replies loftily. "Tickle fights. Forced conversation. Learnin' things. We," he lifts his other hand, poking me carefully for each pause, "- are going to figure – ya – out."

Well, that's got me professionally curious, at least. Maybe I can do some figuring out, too. "Sounds like a tall order on an empty stomach," I say lightly. "Could you at least let me eat breakfast first? Human mess hall's the other way."

"I'll comm Prowler, have him bring ya somethin'," Jazz replies with an easy smile. "Can't have ya starvin'. But the entertainment's still better at our side. Besides, not like ya ever talk to anyone in that mess hall, anyway."

I look at him curiously. "How do you know that?"

"I know everythin'," he grins.

"You sit alone for your meals?" Arcee asks, walking closer to Jazz's fist with me in it. "Why?"

"Psi Corps syndrome, I guess," I say, shrugging as much as is possible when I'm stuck in a giant metal fist. "People don't like talking to people who can go digging around in their heads. It's not my choice to sit alone, but it'll take a while longer before anyone dares to talk to me casually."

"So you eat all your meals by yourself," Arcee says. "That sounds lonely."

"It's always like this on a new base, I'm used to it."

"Even more reason to come with us," Jazz nods. "Ya's too much fun to sit by your own sweet self."

Huh. Well, breakfast should at least be entertaining.

* * *

"Wait, wait," Ironhide says, eyeing me sceptically. "Sticks and stones?"

"That's what he said," I nod, taking another sip of my lukewarm coffee. "The theory is that we'll eradicate each other to such a degree during world war three that we'll knock ourselves back to the Stone Age, so the only weapons available in the fourth one will be whatever's lying around on the ground."

He snorts disbelievingly. "Humans are crazy."

"Amen to that," I agree, and raise my cup, "and a good thing too, because if we weren't I'd be out of a job."

"We'd find something else for you to do," Bumblebee grins.

"Yeah," Sideswipe says, elbowing him. "Like running a movie theatre. I can't believe you fell into recharge in the middle of the film! You missed the best part!"

"Yeah? Like you caught any of it," Bumblebee retorts, smirking.

"I caught some bits every now and then." Sideswipe grins shamelessly. "Though it's hard to focus on anything else when under Sunny's ministrations, you're right about that."

Bumblebee chortles.

I like these guys. The atmosphere is easy and relaxed, the banter goes back and forth as it only can between good friends and close family, and I'm included easily. For once I'm in no hurry to leave the mess hall – even if it is Autobot-sized and all they're consuming is Energon.

Next to me, Ironhide stands up to his impossible height. Even sitting at the table, I have to seriously crane my neck to see his face.

"Prime's called a meeting with Lennox, and we're required," he grunts, walking towards the door. "Jazz, Prowl?"

"Comin'," Jazz says, downing the last of his – nourishment. I can't call it food, not with a straight face. He leans down, gently scuffs my hair with one finger. "Duty calls, sweetspark."

I wave him off. "Go! Plot and plan and make the planet safe. Bye, Prowl!"

The tall black and white mech smiles easily and gives me a wave before following Jazz's silver form out the door. I lean forward a bit, looking after them.

Arcee notices my look. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," I say, snapping back to myself. "Those two are interesting, is all. Yin and yang have nothing on them. Is that common among you guys? That opposites attract?"

"They're not opposites, not really," First Aid says from his seat beside me. "Not completely. If they were, they wouldn't be compatible. Yes, they're order and chaos, but aside from that they're not that different." He looks at his cube. "But the differences between them are perhaps more extreme than usual in bonded pairs."

"I don't know," Blaster says, Arcee on his lap. "Look at Sides an' Sunny."

"Not a good example," Sideswipe replies, pointing at him. "Spark-split twins are a whole other set of complications."

"True," First Aid agrees. "I think it would be better to compare to Ironhide and Chromia. Their personalities are similar. But it's base compatibility that is most important." He looks down at me. "Is it not like this with humans?"

I mull it over for a moment, swirling what's left of my coffee around and around in my cup. "I guess," I reply. "But we can work through a whole lot of crap to get it to work. And if it doesn't… Well, in developed countries the divorce ratio is about forty to sixty percent." I look up at all the blank gazes around me. "That means that for every two couples that marry, one couple split up."

Bumblebee stares at me. "Then why do you bother marrying?"

I shrug. "It's the dream, I guess," I reply. "Happily ever after, for as long as we both shall live. Then normal life hits and you realize that relationships need work. It's not easy, always being part of a couple or a family. And unless you work at it, love doesn't last." I look up at First Aid. "This bonding thing sounds like a more permanent solution."

"It cannot be undone," he replies. "Then again, why would one want to? The bonded pair are privy to each other's thoughts and feelings, they…" He lifts his hands. I can tell he's having problems explaining this to someone, it's like it's the kind of knowledge that everyone just knows. "Sides, help me out here."

Sideswipe leans forward, elbows leaning on the table. "Sunstreaker is part of me," he says simply. "I know his moods, what drives him, and I can always feel him through the bond. We're never alone, there's always someone right in our spark with us. We draw strength and solace from each other, and we balance each other out, and we can place absolute trust in each other, because we're connected. This word of yours, the L word, doesn't cover it. Sunstreaker is more than that to me. He's the way I define my existence."

I stare at him, and I'm not the only one. "Wow, Sides," I manage finally. "You should write wedding vows."

There's a smattering of laughter going around the table.

"Well, then we know what I'll do in peace time," Sideswipe snickers. Then he points at me. "I won, by the way."

"Won?" I'm thoroughly confused – but then again, that's nothing new when dealing with Sideswipe.

"Yeah," he grins. "You called me Sides. You've called us all by our full names since we started hanging out. That's the first time you've used one of our nick names."

"Not so," First Aid, grins. And I'm detecting a hint of smugness, of all things. "She called me Aid on Friday."

Sideswipe stares at him. "What? First Aid! Did you charm her so fast?" Then his focus shifts to me. "This true, Isobel?"

I think back, trying to remember. "Yeah, it is," I realize, turning to First Aid. "After I almost crashed into you."

Now that they've pointed it out, it is actually pretty strange. I frown up at First Aid, trying to identify exactly why I did use a nick name that day.

"Um. Isobel?" He's clearly not comfortable under my scrutiny.

"Sorry." I shake my head slightly. "Just doing some self-analyzing, here. Nick names are not really my thing."

"Why not?" Bumblebee looks as curious as a metal face can.

"Professionalism," I reply. "Think about it. I have two roles. It's too easy to slip up in the office if I'm too personal out here."

"I get it," Blaster says. He turns to Bumblebee, activating a recording that has to be doctored. The Prime's voice rings out in the room. "I am very disappointed that you did not bring this information to me sooner, Lil'Bee."

Sideswipe slips to the floor in a boneless – strut-less – heap, frame trembling, giggling uncontrollably. "You're right, that wouldn't work at all," he manages to gasp in between fits of laughter – he's laughing so hard he's producing static, somehow.

Arcee's giggling wildly too, leaning back against Blaster's torso, the clear bell-like sound echoing around the room. He grins, nuzzling her neck cabling lightly.

That fascinates me – I haven't seen the Autobots be physically close in this form, unless you count Ironhide and Chromia fighting. It's interesting that these giant metal robots seem to enjoy physical closeness. The metal must be sensitive, though how that works is beyond me. I twist, look a question up at First Aid.

He nods, grins at me. "I'll tell you later."

It's funny, how well he reads me. I didn't even have to speak out loud, he inferred it from the situation and our previous conversations. It's kind of nice, actually, having someone know me that well.

And then it's a problem. Because a tall, red mech walks in the mess hall door. And oh, I recognize that movement pattern. I know that mech.

I hide my face in my coffee cup, trying to conceal the blush I know is sneaking up on my cheeks. God, I'm reacting like a kid, you'd think I'd never had a one night stand before.

Thankfully, Mirage seems to be avoiding me, too. Not that I know if he even noticed me in among all these big bots. It's very easy to not see something you don't know is there.

First Aid is looking at me strangely. Probably because he thinks I'm acting strange. Which is true, I guess.

Thankfully, Arcee comes to my rescue. "So, Bee, when's the next movie night?"

"Why," he grins, "you two need the couch again? Or did you actually want to see the movie this time?"

"No," Sideswipe wheezes, pulling himself back onto the chair. "No movie nights planned. Next, it's Halloween."

"What's Halloween?" First Aid asks, turning towards the tall silver mech.

Bumblebee motions to me. "Tell them, Isobel."

I put my cup down, blush finally gone from my cheeks. "It's technically a celebration of the dead," I reply. "But more accurately, and probably the reason Bumblebee and his cronies want to celebrate it, it's a party where everyone dresses up as something scary and gets drunk."

"I'm game for a party," Blaster says, smirking. "When is this party?"

"Halloween is two weeks from now," Bumblebee replies. "That's a bit short time to work any magic, but we'll make do. You'll come, right, Isobel?"

I look at the smallish yellow bot. "Bumblebee, I'm game for whatever you're setting up."

"Ooh," Sideswipe grins. "We'll hold you to that."

"Just keep Skids and Mudflap away from the beverages," First Aid sighs. "I haven't installed the TV in the med bay yet."

I grin at him. "Don't worry, First Aid. I'll run any beverages by you first, so you can make sure I'm safe."

He looks insanely happy at that.

* * *

_Dear diary,_

_I was wrong before. The Autobots aren't crazy – they're downright mad. Some of them, anyway – there may still be hope for First Aid and Blaster, maybe Arcee and Bluestreak, but the others are bat-shit insane._

_I watched them spar outside after breakfast today. Pieces of them fall off! Entire limbs! And they just attach them again, like it's nothing! And Ratchet was shouting at them all the way though repairing them, like he was personally offended that they'd managed to get hurt._

_If I was an engineer, I'd have a field day with these guys. Heck, I'm already having a field day with them, just trying to figure out what makes them tick. And hoping that the tick doesn't make them go boom._

_Some of them seem quite close to boom. Sunstreaker showed up for sparring too, and he is a piece of work. He doesn't seem to have the restraint his brother/lover does, and he certainly doesn't hold back in a fight. Not even a fake one. I watched him go toe to toe with Chromia and Arcee at once, and apparently they're both strong fighters, but they had nothing on him. He's driven. That's the first time I've been scared of one of them._

_Anyways, I'm going to go for a run. Have to take advantage of the weather staying nice. Going to the rec room tonight to read a bit. Maybe some of the soldiers want to hang out or something._

_Yeah, chances are small. But you never know._

* * *

"You dancin', Isobel?"

I spin on my toes, staring at Blaster's holoform. He entered the rec room so silently that I didn't hear him. Of course, that may also have something to do with _Despacito_ blaring at a fairly high volume from the radio.

"No!" I squeak. Gah, I hate my voice when I'm surprised. "I mean, no, not really. I'm just having fun, is all."

"Looked like dancin' to me," he replies, grinning. "Not my kind of music, but you've got some moves, girl."

I shrug. "I learned some salsa moves and some other stuff as a student. But I'd hardly call myself a dancer." I walk over, turn the radio down. "I just couldn't resist this song, and no one else was here, so…"

"So you're a secret dancer," he grins. "I dig it. Hey, Jazz! Bluestreak!"

Oh crap.

The named holoforms come tumbling in, Bluestreak in an energetic huff and Jazz gliding in behind him. "'Sup, Blaster?"

"Isobel's dancing," Blaster says smugly.

"It was just a little, and just for fun!" I protest. I can see the glint in Jazz's eye from here. "Nothing to make a fuss about."

"You dancin' without me, sweetspark?" The disgustingly handsome holoform smiles slowly. "Wanna dance with me, instead?" He saunters across the floor, takes my hands. "Hit it, Blaster."

Blaster starts playing a complicated beat that I don't recognize, and Jazz pulls me along. I have a hard time keeping up with his spinning and twisting and lifting. When he finally lets me go, I'm more than a little dizzy, and I hold on to the back of a chair for support.

"That," I accuse him, head still spinning, "is not the kind of dancing I do."

Jazz just smirks.

"What kind of dancing do you do, Isobel?" Bluestreak asks. He's suddenly behind me, hand stroking up my back. "Are you okay? You look a little whiter than usual."

"Humans aren't built for spinning like that," I groan. "I'll be fine in a moment, I'm just a little dizzy."

"Can you show me how you dance?" he asks. I can hear the curiosity in his voice.

I push away from the chair, look at those puppy-dog eyes in that angelic face. He's smiling at me hopefully. "Do you dance, Bluestreak?"

"Not like Jazz does," he admits. "I'm not very good."

"Nobody dances like Jazz does," I grumble. "And thank God for that. Come on, I'll show you. Time for you to learn some earth dancing." I take his hand and pull him to the middle of the floor. "Blaster, can you turn on _Better when I'm dancin'_? It's Meghan Trainor."

"Sure thing," he grins easily. The first few bars of the song sound out in the room.

I position Bluestreak next to me. "This is not a couple's routine. We did this as a flash mob – a lot of people dancing together – when I was a student. Not to this song, but I like this song, and it fits. You just do what I do, okay?"

He nods eagerly.

I lead Bluestreak through the routine. It's a fairly simple choreography, meant for amateurs, so he catches it quickly. Jazz joins in, and of course, he elaborates on it until it's nearly unrecognizable, but at least I manage to avoid being lifted and spun again. Instead, I grab hold of Bluestreak's hands, and we spin around each other like kids, the speed of the spinning pulling some of his long hair – loose now – across his face. When I suddenly realize that I'm laughing and giggling like a child I'm not that surprised. I'm having way too much fun to care.

When the song ends, I realize we have an audience. First Aid is leaning up against the wall, grinning at me, Bumblebee and Arcee have somehow managed to join in the routine during our twirling without me noticing, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are just walking through the doorway.

"Hey, no one told us we were having a party!" Sideswipe exclaims happily.

"Not a party," I giggle. "Just fun. Thanks, Blaster."

"Sure thing," he grins. "I told you you had moves."

I start walking towards one of the sofas when Bluestreak grabs my hand, tugging me back until I look at him. "More?" he asks hopefully.

It's a good thing he's a nice kid, because I just can't say no to this bot.

"What song, Isobel?" Blaster asks.

I shrug. "I don't know. You choose."

"No, don't let him choose," Jazz groans. "We'll be listenin' to eighties rock all night. Isobel chooses."

I purse my lips slightly. "Take a list?"

"Sure," Blaster nods. "Hit me."

" _Blitzkrieg bop. I want you to want me_ – Letters to Cleo version. _Shut up and drive. When can I see you again_. _Happy_ – Pharrell's version. _Magic dance_ from _Labyrinth_. And then you can do whatever you want after that."

"Excellent." He grins.

I shoot a grin at First Aid and Sideswipe. "You guys want to join?" Sunstreaker leans against the wall and smirks at me. He knows why I didn't ask him.

"I'm not good at dancing," First Aid says, looking away. He's still wearing the clothes from last night.

"Who said anything about needing to be good?" I skip over to him, take his hands. They're slightly warmer than mine, and I use them as support to stand on tiptoe and look into his eyes. "We're just doing it for fun. Want to come and join in with me?"

I tug a bit at his hands, not all that surprised when he follows. He smiles at me tentatively. "Promise you won't laugh?"

I shake my head and smile. "I'd never laugh at you, First Aid."

This bot has the most radiant smile I've ever seen.

_Blitzkrieg bop_ is an upbeat piece of music, and it's almost easier to bounce around than to do any actual dancing, though I do try to pull First Aid into some minor moves. Bluestreak and Bumblebee are certainly being very enthusiastic about their bouncing. Sideswipe, unsurprisingly, has the club dancing down to an art – he's not as exuberant and wild as Jazz, so it's safer to dance with him. I notice that First Aid is trying to copy his moves.

Blaster plays through my list effortlessly, and when we reach the last bit of the last song I disengage from Bumblebee's hold on my hands to get something to drink. Sometime during all those songs we got more company, and the couches have been pushed away to make a proper dance floor. There are more holoforms on the floor. Arcee and Chromia are laughing behind Jazz's back; Chromia in the same dark clothes as I saw her last, but Arcee has abandoned the aerobics look in favor of a punky spiky hairdo and a red and black dress today. Prowl is lounging over in the corner giving me a quiet smile, and Ironhide is talking to Sunstreaker over by the wall.

When I put my water bottle back down, Blaster begins playing _Despacito_. I spin towards him, and he shoots me a naughty grin. "Come on, Isobel, let's see those moves."

Emboldened by the way everyone seems to be having fun, and that most of them aren't looking at me, I raise my hands over my head and roll my hips. Blaster turns the volume up.

I absolutely love this song, it goes straight through my ears and down to my feet, setting every muscle off as it passes. I half-close my eyes and lose myself in the music.

So it's a bit of a surprise when I open them again half a minute later to find that I'm in the middle of the dance floor and everyone's looking at me.

Crap.

"Atta girl, Isobel," Jazz smirks. " _Now_ ya's dancing."

"Sexy," Arcee grins. She takes hold of Bluestreak. "Come on, kid, let's see if we can do that."

First Aid's staring at me, mouth slightly agape. Suddenly I'm embarrassed.

"Close your mouth, Aid, you'll catch flies," I mumble, turning away and starting to walk back to the sofa. Suddenly I'm not that comfortable anymore. I think I'll sit the next few songs out.

Of course, I forget to plan for Sideswipe. Not that it's that easy to plan for him – he just happens.

And now he happens to take hold of my hands, and leans down to murmur in my ear. "Where are you going, beautiful? The song's not over yet." He twirls me gently. "You know, you're fine as a solo artist, but let's show these guys how steamy that style can get, hmm?"

Then he pulls me close to him, and start dancing against me.

I stiffen at first, not at all comfortable either with his words or with his hands fairly low on my back.

"Ease up, gorgeous," he murmurs in my ear. "It's just dancing, I promise. I just want you to enjoy yourself. And I want to dance with you again. Okay?"

I take a deep breath. That actually doesn't sound so bad. And now that Chromia's pulled Ironhide out on the dance floor too, and Arcee's undulating up against a blushing Bluestreak, there are at least other people than me being stared at. I move my hips again, slowly.

"That's it, baby girl," Sideswipe murmurs, hands moving down on my hips. I lift my eyes and see that he's grinning at me. "I like this song, too."

I smile back, and let my fingers trace the planes of his chest slowly. "Well, then, handsome, let's show them."

I place one hand on his neck, move my hips in time with his. He sneaks one leg in between my own and pulls me closer.

Now the music's moving between the both of us. And it's magnificent.

Sideswipe places his forehead against mine, eyes half-closed. One of his hands slide down my leg and takes hold of my knee, and then he hitches my leg up around his hip. I lean my upper body backwards into his waiting other arm.

For a brief moment I'm watching the world upside-down.

First Aid is still staring at me, but his expression's changed.

Before I have time to figure out what's different, Sideswipe pulls me back up and turns with me. He's still got one hand securing my leg around his hip, and he hoists me up slightly so that my other foot only barely touches the floor. So now, when he moves his hips, he moves mine, too. I'm willing to bet it looks like we're doing something completely different than we are. He grins at me.

And then he lowers my leg, and leans towards my ear. "Isobel, can Sunny join us? He really wants to."

_Sunstreaker_ wants to dance with us? I wonder why. Maybe he's jealous – that's the only logical reason I can think of. "Um. Sure, if he wants."

"Thanks, baby girl," he breathes. A moment later, a second pair of hands touch my hips, and a smooth cheek is pressed against mine.

"Hi, Isobel," Sunstreaker mutters in my ear.

I lift my other hand towards his face, tracing his cheek bone and letting my fingers rest around his neck. If we're dancing like this, then we're going to dance like this. He tenses for a moment, but then he allows it.

"Hey, Sunstreaker," I murmur.

Now I have one hand around the neck of each insanely sexy twin, and I'm sandwiched between them. Two sets of hands are on me, Sideswipe has lifted one hand to cup my cheek and Sunstreaker's let his hands drift forward to rest against the front of my hips.

We must look so hot.

I hope someone's filming this, because I seriously want to watch it later.

Our hips move together. It's interesting how insanely coordinated they are – they move in tandem, no pause, no awkwardness. Must be a twin thing. When Sideswipe lifts my leg up again, Sunstreaker lets his hands wander up to my stomach and his mouth moves close to my ear.

I'm starting to wonder if Sideswipe really meant it when he said it was just dancing.

Sunstreaker pulls gently at me, and I lean backwards into his waiting grip. He sidesteps, hands still on my waist, and suddenly he's pretty much supporting all my weight as Sideswipe lifts up my other leg and I'm upside down again, hair hanging down to the floor.

Oh. Well, two can play that game. Or three, I guess.

I curl my legs around Sideswipe's hip, making sure I won't fall. Then I lean even further down, Sunstreaker's strong arms supporting me, until I'm almost vertical. Then I curl back up, but instead of reaching for Sideswipe I twist slightly until I'm front to front with his brother.

Sunstreaker looks surprised. Then he smirks slightly, and lets his hands slide up my side to take hold of my arms. I let him place them around his neck and relax my legs until Sideswipe's carrying my weight again.

_Despacito_ ends, and Rihanna's _Towards the sun_ begins instead. I giggle quietly at that – it's very fitting. I wonder idly if Blaster's watching us.

Sideswipe lets go of my legs, and moves to stand behind me. His hands move down my stomach, pulling me back against his chest, and his mouth is suddenly on my neck. I gasp.

Okay. This is so not just dancing.

Then again, in the Sunny'n'Sides standard, this is nothing. Maybe I should have expected as much.

Sunstreaker pulls my hips closer and slips one leg in between mine. His hands on my hip and the leg I'm resting on dictate how I can move. I rotate my hips as he wants me to, placing my hands around both their necks again. Sideswipe lifts his head and backs up a little, moving his hips against mine. Then his hands trade places with his twin's, and I'm pulled closer to Sunstreaker's torso.

Now it's his lips that ghost across my face.

I make no effort to meet them. If I do, he'll probably kill me. Plus, I don't really want to kiss Sunstreaker. That feels like something with a lot of strings attached. Or at least something with a lot of consequences. Instead, I lean my head back to rest against Sideswipe's shoulder, letting my fingers tug gently on Sunstreaker's dark hair. We're so close together, Sunstreaker's mouth can probably still meet mine if he wants to. My hold on his hair won't stop him, but it might make him pay attention.

"Behave," I murmur. "Both of you."

"Or what?" Sideswipe replies softly, his mouth at my ear. Sunstreaker growls quietly.

"Or I'll go dance with Bumblebee instead." I can see the kid behind Sunstreaker, over by the wall; he is talking animatedly with First Aid.

"That would be cruel and unusual punishment," Sideswipe breathes. His hands slide up and down my hips. Sunstreaker's mouth moves down on my throat, and he pulls me closer to him. I didn't actually think I could get any closer, but he seems determined to prove me wrong.

"I mean it," I say, twisting in their grip until I'm facing the reasonable twin again. "I'm not tangling with the two of you. You said just dancing."

Sideswipe grins. His hands move against my lower back, pulling me close. "You sure? You seem a bit hot and bothered. We can help you with that." One hand inches down my butt. Sunstreaker purrs against my neck, nuzzling up and down my hairline.

I make as to twist out of their grip. "Going to find Bumblebee now."

"Okay, okay!" Sideswipe sighs. "Just dancing, then." Sunstreaker gives an annoyed little huff, but he removes his mouth from my neck.

When the song ends, they both let me go. I shoot them a grin and pat each of their cheeks. "That's my good mechs. Thanks for dancing with me."

Sunstreaker takes a step closer and bends down to my ear. "Offer's standing," he murmurs. "You are more fun than I expected."

Wow. A whole sentence from the not-so-cheerful twin.

"Well, thanks, I think," I smile, snaking an arm around his neck and hugging him gently. "But no thanks. I don't think I want to be between you guys. Plus, technically, Sideswipe is my client and I've already toed the line enough as it is."

Sideswipe grins. "That's true. I forgot about that."

I smile and turn away from them. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, mechs."

I make my way back to my water bottle in the sofa. While I was sandwiched in twin-land, the holoforms around me moved around. Arcee's sitting in a sofa, curled up against Blaster and talking to Bluestreak – talking at him, rather, he looks like he's sucking up every word she says. Ironhide and Chromia are gone, and I'm not going to think overly much on where. Jazz and Prowl have their heads together in the far corner, sitting in a couch with their back to the room – I'd say they are up to something shady, but knowing Prowl they're probably just talking. Intimately. In the corner. With Jazz's hands around Prowl's neck and his mouth at the other's ear.

I'm going to look away now.

Sideswipe wasn't wrong. Those hands on me had an effect, and I really am all hot and bothered. All revved up and nowhere to go. I take a swig from my water bottle and check the time discreetly.

A bit too early to get out of here without an excuse. Can't go to bed yet. I look around to see if my other usual accomplices are available.

As I turn, I notice Sunstreaker is towing his twin towards the door. Sideswipe catches my eye and tilt his head towards the door in an unspoken invitation. I smile slightly and shake my head, shooing them out with one hand. I am not going to get into that set of complications.

I can't see First Aid and Bumblebee. Aside from the bots I've already noticed, there's no one else here.

Maybe I can sneak out. I don't think any of these bots will notice me. Quietly, I pick up my things and walk carefully out the door.

As I walk softly towards the corner of the building, taking care to be as quiet as I can, I hear voices coming from the little pathway between the buildings. I stop just short of the corner.

It's Bumblebee and First Aid, and I'm just about to walk around and greet them when the words they're saying actually register in my brain.

"… be a bit more forward?" Bumblebee says. "You hang back, you know."

"Yeah, I guess," First Aid says. He sounds upset. "But she didn't even notice me after that, did she?"

"That's because he beat you to it," Bumblebee replies. "Besides, you know how she is. She's easily distracted. You saw that last night, too."

"Yeah," First Aid sighs. "I just don't know how to talk to that femme. And it seems everybot else does."

This is not for my ears. I walk back the way I came, quietly, aiming to find another way home. I don't need to know too much about what First Aid feels about Arcee, it's just going to make it harder to act natural around both of them.

Someone's waiting for me at the other end of the building.

"Hello, darling," a low voice murmurs. "I saw you dancing. You looked like you had fun."

Perfect. I grin slowly at him, letting my fingers trace his chest as I walk past. It's no big surprise that he follows me.


	8. Learning curve

_Dear diary,_

_Woke up without Mirage again. That mech is really not good at pillow talk. I wonder when I'll ever actually get to talk to him, aside from, you know, 'oh yes more' and 'please, Mirage'. There was no note today either, just a flower. Which is a nice touch, I guess._

_What kind of category do you fall into when you never even talk? Extremely casual relationship? Acquaintances with benefits?_

_Then again, we're different species. Radically so. So I guess the category really doesn't matter very much. No category would cover it anyway – it would need to be really, really specific._

_Cross-species intimate relationship by proxy._

_Yeah. I think I'll ditch the category._

_The weekend's been insane. No, scratch that. All of last week was insane. I've been sucked into a culture I didn't know existed a month ago. I'm fraternizing with aliens. And they're insanely cool! Even when they disrespect personal boundaries or let their mouth run off with them or drown my porch in vegetation._

_I don't know if this is the norm for their behavior, or if it's intensified because of me. I hope they stabilize at a slightly lower level of crazy, anyway. If not, I'm not sure I can keep up._

_It'll be good to go to work again. It has less of an Autobot presence. I haven't talked to an actual human being since Friday._

* * *

The first appointment for my Monday reads 'Optimus Prime'. And not just this week. He's plotted himself into every nine o'clock Monday appointment for as far as my calendar goes. And I don't know how far that is – I'm looking at December 2021 now, but I'm fairly certain I'm going to keep finding Optimus in that slot until well past my expected lifetime.

Well, at least it will be a predictable start to my workweek. Though I wonder why he's doing this.

There's a knock at my human-sized door, fifteen minutes early. That means he's in holoform, and thank God for that – I don't have to climb that stupid dais again.

I open the door and see a stranger, with the familiar bright-blue eyes. He's taller than me, but slender, with a stern but not unfriendly look on his handsome face – normally handsome, not Sideswipe-handsome. Pale, almost white hair is pulled tightly back into a ponytail, and he's wearing a white uniform of sorts with a caduceus on the chest pocket.

"Oh," I say as recognition hits me. "Good morning, Ratchet. Please, come in."

"Thank you, Isobel." He smiles at me as he walks past me into the office – not the warm, friendly smile I've come to expect from Optimus or First Aid, or the smirk that would come from Sideswipe or Jazz. This is a smile that says 'good, you're up to speed, we can dispense with the formalities, this will be done faster'. "I just need a few minutes of your time."

"Of course," I say, following him over to my desk. He doesn't take a chair.

"I wanted to talk to you about the referral system you discussed with First Aid," he says. "I need to make sure you're up to the task."

"Okay?" Somehow, I get the feeling that this is not about my skill level. Though I'm not sure if I should feel offended or not. Up to the task? Really?

"If I do refer bots to you, it will not be for any recent damage," he says, frowning. "To be quite blunt, I want to know that you understand that this assignment could constitute a risk to you."

I sit down on the edge of my desk, look up at him. "I have been attacked by soldiers before, when I've touched on subjects that were uncomfortable for them. It's always a risk to work with mentally traumatized warriors."

"Yes," he nods, "I know, I read your file. But the Autobots, even in holoform, are strong enough to kill you without hesitation should they trigger that way. And we have a few who are very easy to trigger. We also have bots that could in all effect be reduced to quivering messes if you push at the wrong time. I don't want you to come to harm, but I will also not risk losing one of my mechs – and they are mine, make no mistake, the amount of time I've spent putting them back together, they're mine as much as they're Prime's – because you didn't read their signals right."

Huh. Blunt. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," I reply, a bit sarcastically. "I do have practice in this field, Ratchet."

To my surprise, he grins. And this is a much more pleasant expression than the one he wore when he walked through my door.

"I know. I also needed to make sure that you wouldn't put up with their crap. I can see that I didn't need to worry on that front."

I lean back on the desk, grinning back. "So this was a test."

"Partially." He nods. "I also wanted to give you this." He puts his hand in his pocket, pulls out an external hard-drive. "This is – what's that phrase you humans use? Autobots 101? And 102, 103, 104 and so on." He chuckles lightly. "It's a university degree's worth of information in here. We may have gone a bit overboard. I just don't want you to inadvertently bring out the worst in mechs simply because you don't have the information you need and don't know what they're referring to."

I take the black box carefully. "This is a crash course on you guys?"

"Far more than a crash course, but yes, in essence," he agrees. "We've put together information on our culture, history, what you would call biology, the essence of the war, whatever else we thought you might need. There's also a more extensive file on each Autobot currently on the island, though I'd ask you not to read those unless you need to."

"Thank you," I say, with real feeling. "This will make interacting with you so much simpler. And don't worry, I'll stay out of the personnel files for now. I don't want to be privy to everyone's history. I'll get started on this as soon as I'm done working today."

"Good." He smiles. "I've taken the liberty of filling up your schedule for the next couple of days. This is for work, after all, so you should be able to do it on the clock."

I look down, refresh my calendar. After Optimus, every single slot for the rest of the today and the next three days reads 'study time', and all my previous appointments have been moved to Friday. I grin. "Looks good. If I have any questions about what I read, who can I talk to? About the general information, I mean."

"Prowl, Jazz and Ironhide can always be approached," he replies. "Optimus too, though he's often busy. Me, of course, if there's nothing else that needs me. I understand that you and First Aid are becoming friends, but bear in mind that he's still quite young by our standards and will have limited knowledge. Be careful about approaching the twins."

"Yes, I can imagine the hair-pressure triggers on those two," I murmur. "Bluestreak and Bumblebee? Arcee? Blaster?"

"Yes to the last three, Blaster and his symbionts probably know the most, but be careful with Bluestreak," he replies promptly. "He's fine with most of it, but he's one of the ones who will be reduced to a quivering mess at the wrong word. I know he doesn't show it, but he's got as much slag in his past as Sunstreaker does."

That surprises me, and I'm a bit upset that I missed it. I'm supposed to be good at picking up that kind of thing, it's my job.

"I'll include a few sentences about the bots with my referrals," Ratchet says. "So you'll know what to expect from each bot that walks in here and how to handle them. How to not handle them, rather." He frowns, shakes his head. "We've gotten them this far, but I don't know how to get them further, especially with the war still raging. Maybe you can come up with something new, something that we haven't tried." He shoots me a quick grin. "Like when you took Prowl jogging."

I giggle a bit at that. "I think we both enjoyed that."

"Oh, that I believe," he smiles, "And that's what we need. A new way of thinking." He turns towards the door. "I don't know if you've noticed, Isobel, but you're a breath of fresh air around here. I know you've spent a lot of time in Autobot company since last Monday. I don't expect that the novelty of having you around will wear off for – oh, the next couple of months at least, so don't let them devour you completely, okay? And see me if you need anything."

I grin. "You got it, Ratchet. And thanks for this."

"Absolutely." He closes the door behind him.

I look at the gadget in my hands with a grin. This is going to make things so much easier! I put it down before I fall for the temptation to start reading right now. If I look at this before Optimus gets here I won't be able to focus on what Boss Bot is saying.

There's a knock on the door. Optimus sticks his head in. "Good morning, Isobel, may I come in?"

I nod, stand up from my desk. "Hey, Optimus, yeah, of course."

"Thank you." He walks in, closes the door. "I noticed Ratchet leaving, so I assumed you were available even if I am a little early. Did he give you the data storage device?"

"The external hard-drive, yes," I nod. "Thank you for that. It'll answer so many questions."

"Or generate new ones," he smiles. "Do you have many questions? You can ask me, you know."

"I have a ton," I reply honestly. "But I'm guessing they're all pretty basic. If I can't find the answers in here, I'll ask." I motion him towards the chairs. "But you're not here to teach me about Cybertonian culture. Want to tell me why you've slotted yourself into my calendar from here on to eternity? Somehow I doubt you need that much therapy."

He laughs at that – a rich, low, rolling laugh that reverberates in my bones. Holy crap. "No, I hope I do not. To be honest…" He leans back, sitting on the armrest of one of the chairs. "I booked this time with you as a haven of sorts. A calm time at the start of each week. I do know that's not your function – " he shoots me a slightly mischievous smile, wow, the Prime can actually look mischievous "- but I do recall you said I could come and look out of your window for a while."

"My window is yours," I smile back.

"Thank you."

"So why do you need a haven?" I ask, walking up to stand next to him. My head barely reaches his shoulder, he's so tall.

"I am Prime," he says simply. "And that humbles and honors me. But sometimes I need to just be Optimus. I wanted a place or time where there are no calls for my attention, no strategies to be planned, no problems to be solved." He sighs. "I care deeply for each and every one of my Autobots, but sometimes…"

"Sometimes, you need some alone time," I nod. "I can understand that. I'm sure they can, too."

"Yes, probably," he agrees. "But there seems to be a difference between understanding that I need some alone time and actually granting me that time." He turns towards me, smiling slightly. "I humbly ask for asylum in your office for an hour at the beginning of each week."

"Asylum granted," I reply, grinning at him. "So do you want to sit here and look out the window for a while?"

"Yes," he breathes, settling down fully in the chair. "That sounds perfect."

We talk for a while about nothing in particular. Optimus relaxes gradually, leaning back in the chair, stretching his long legs. I grin at him as he melts into the chair, and he shoots me a quick smile. "You know, you don't have to entertain me. You can go to work on that data."

"No, this is your hour," I reply, shaking my head. "Besides, I'd prefer to read that alone, I'll probably become completely engulfed in it."

He smiles at that. "Do we fascinate you?"

"Of course you do," I reply. "Didn't you expect that? It's not every day I get to immerse myself in an alien culture."

"I think it goes both ways," he replies, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "I understand that Bumblebee is very excited about this planned Halloween party of his."

"Bumblebee is such a sweetheart," I laugh. "He reminds me of my brother when we were younger."

"He is very young," Optimus agreed, smiling. Then he sobered. "And his entire life, he's seen fighting. He was brought into existence in a war. As were several of the others."

I walk over to him, sit down in the other chair. "Then we should be grateful that he's retained that youthfulness, instead of hardening. I've seen too much of that in young soldiers."

"Yes," he sighs. "As have I."

I lean over, put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

He lifts his hand to rest on mine. "Such is the nature of war."

We sit like that for a few moments before I squeeze his shoulder and pull my hand back. "Such a gloomy subject we landed on," I say lightly. "I'd thank you not to dwell on the horrors of war while visiting this haven."

At that, he laughs. Loudly. Louder than I've ever heard him laugh, actually, and hard enough to draw tears had he actually been human.

"Thank you," he says when he gets his laughter back under control. "I needed that."

"It's why I'm here," I grin, leaning back in my chair.

"Ask you a personal question?" His head is leaning against the back of the chair, eyes looking up at the ceiling.

I nod, mimic his position. "Shoot."

"Why didn't you go with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe yesterday?"

That's a surprise. I twist and look at him. "How do you know about that?"

"Jazz," he replies, grinning.

"Should have seen that coming," I sigh, returning to look at the ceiling. "That is one sharp mech."

"Yes," Optimus agrees dryly. "I made him head of Special Ops for a reason. So why didn't you go with them?"

I shrug. "I couldn't think of any good reasons to. And a whole lot of reasons to not go. With those two, it's especially important that I establish where the boundaries are. And that I'm not comfortable crossing them."

He takes a deep breath, lets it out and smiles. "And that confirms it."

I twist again, look at him. "Confirms what?"

"That we were right to come to you. You can handle us."

I smile at that. "I'm glad you brought me in. It's made my life so much more interesting."

A few more beats of silence.

"Ask you a personal question?"

He grins at that. "Shoot."

"What's the reasoning behind your holoform?"

Now he twists and looks at me. "Reasoning?"

I look back at him. "Yes. Bluestreak explained that they can fit wrong, that you can tweak them, and I know Arcee's having problems deciding on hers. She's switching back and forth every day."

"I see." He frowns slightly. "Well, mine fits well enough, though it's not perfect. They work best if we design them – intuitively, I guess is the best word. But that's difficult. It requires that you know yourself very well." He looks down at his holoform. "I've let the expectations of the people around me influence the appearance of mine. Your people especially."

"I understand," I nod. "You need to project a certain image."

"Exactly. For instance, you humans tend to defer to older individuals, correct? Age brings wisdom, so those humans who have some age with them are treated with more respect."

"That's mostly true," I nod. "Is that why you look mid-forties?"

"Yes." He grins. "Cybertronians are not dissimilar to you atually, except for one thing; age does not necessarily mean bodily decay. As long as we have an adequate supply of energon and spare parts, we can function forever." He chuckles quietly. "Stay in the prime of life, as it were."

"Heh." I giggle a bit at the lame pun. "Unlike us, who peak at thirty and then start going downhill from there." I pause at that. "Huh. I've already peaked. Now that is a gloomy subject."

"You're in good shape, though," Optimus replies with a smile. "You keep fit. I'd say you have some good years ahead of you yet." Then he shoots me a wicked grin. "Hey, do you want to see how I'd really look? I designed an alternate holoform with a better fit."

I sit up. "Absolutely." Anything that puts that expression on the face of Optimus Prime has to be worth seeing.

He stands up. A cloud of blue sparks envelop him for a moment, before he turns to me. "Well? What do you think?"

What do I think? The short answer is 'Wow', I guess. But that's unprofessional. "I think this suits you much better."

He grins, the same familiar grin, in a face that is both the same as it was and completely different. He looks ten years younger, for one, more my age. There's a smattering of designer stubble along his jaw. It's hard to pinpoint the exact changes to the planes of his face, but he looks happier, less serious. And he's so much more good-looking. His shoulders and torso are still muscled, but not as heavily – he doesn't look like a career soldier anymore, now he looks like someone who's spent all his life doing martial arts or something. And his hair's longer – not long like many of the others', but it falls into his eyes and curls around his ears, dark, wavy and almost irresistible.

I'm glad I'm not standing, because I would have had to sit right back down.

"Optimus, do you guys make it a point to be so damned good-looking that it's a distraction for us ordinary mortals?"

He chuckles, blushes slightly. Wow, I managed to make Optimus Prime self-conscious.

"I can't speak for the others, but it was not my goal to be distracting," he grins, a little bashful. Optimus, bashful. Wonders really never cease. "Not to you, anyway."

Not to me? Well, that's a bombshell! Who does he want to distract?

I'm suddenly insanely curious.

"Optimus," I grin slowly, leaning over the armrest of my chair towards him. "Who did you get all fine and hunky for?"

And now he's flustered. _Flustered_.

"It really is a better fit, that's all," he tries to explain. It's all just words. I can see the truth in his face – the faint blush across those cheeks, the slight bite to the lower lip, the wandering eyes.

I just lean towards him a bit more and grin.

And he folds, of course. He can probably withstand torture for weeks without caving, but he folds at genuine, caring interest. "I'm not telling you who it is," he says, finally, a small smile still on his face. "It's none of your business." He walks over to me, ruffles my hair. "You look like a curious sparkling waiting for a story."

Sparkling? Now I wish that I'd gotten to Ratchet's files sooner.

"Child," he translates, seeing my confusion.

I twist until I'm lying on my back over the armrest, looking up, still grinning at him. "Well, compared to you, maybe I am a curious sparkling. I'm certainly waiting for a story."

"I can tell." He smiles at me. "And you will have to keep waiting. My little break here is over, and I believe you have a lot of information waiting for you on that desk over there."

I pout slightly at him as I twist out of my chair and stand up. "Ooh. But we were getting to the best part."

"Stop being petulant." He grins at me, taking the sting out of the words.

"Well, you called me a sparkling."

"In the very fondest way," he clarifies, and then abruptly leans in and hugs me. "I'll be back here in a week, Isobel."

I nod as he turns to leave. Just before he reaches the door, I call out to him again. "Hey, Optimus?"

He turns, a questioning look on his face.

"Keep that form. It suits you."

He grins again at that, then leaves.

* * *

_There is so much information on this hard drive! Ratchet wasn't exaggerating, there's something on_ _everything_ _. I started out reading about their planet; that chapter read like Prime had written it, somehow. And then I read a few pages on culture, courtesy of Jazz, before moving on to the history of a place kalled Kalis, and that lead to the finding of a full world atlas which I've spent all afternoon poring over._

_I can play 'Pointless' with Cybertronian cities now. I'd go with Trypticon. Or Polyhex. These names are fantastic._

_Not that there's another human on Earth with this knowledge. So a gameshow with that topic would be kind of – pointless. Hah._

_The atlas is incredibly detailed. It's not just names and maps, there's key information about each city too – where there are energon mines (and who knew that energon was something you could mine?), what the city's known for, what kind of frame type was typical for each city, and so much more. Apparently, there was a city where all the inhabitants were planes of sorts! It was called Vos. And at the base of the information about it is the date when it was razed in the war._

_A lot of the atlas entries have dates like that attached._

_It looks like most of their planet was destroyed during the war. I can't imagine how that must feel. My world war Einstein glib to Ironhide yesterday suddenly seems mean and tactless. This race lost their entire planet to war, and judging from what I've read so far today there's not much chance of it supporting life again._

_It's kind of heartbreaking._

* * *

Someone's knocking on my door. I suddenly realize that I've heard that knocking for a few minutes already, I just haven't noticed. I was completely absorbed in what I was reading.

When I open the door, First Aid is waiting for me outside.

"I am so sorry, First Aid," I apologize instantly. "Would you believe me if I said I was reading so hard that I didn't hear the knocking?"

He chuckles, looks at me through those long eyelashes. "Am I disturbing you?"

"No, that's okay, I could do with a break," I smile. "My neck's all sore, I've been reading all day."

"Yeah, Ratchet said he gave you that hard-drive today. That's actually why I came by, I thought I would see if you had any questions."

"I'm a bit overwhelmed, still," I confess. "I was just sitting and reading about Cybertronian cities."

"You brought it home with you?" He frowns slightly. "I thought Ratchet cleared your calendar."

"He did." I nod. "But I had to bring it home, otherwise, I'd still be at the office. I can't seem to stop reading. Won't you come in?"

"Sure," he grins, "if you want me to."

I take his hand, pulling him in behind me. "Yeah, come and look at this."

I sit him down next to me in the couch, and pull the computer closer to me. "Look at all this information!"

He leans over, looks at the screen. "Wow. You seem to have gotten everything but the hard science. The Prime must have bumped up your clearance for this."

"It's secret?" I twist to look at him. I'm not sure I needed to know all the secrets.

"Well, not the stuff you've been looking at," he says, quickly clicking through the open files. "This is basic information that we would have told the humans if they wanted to know. So far, they haven't. But you've also got a lot of medical information in here, some of the science behind how we function, personal files of all the Autobots on base…"

"I'm not looking at those until I need to," I establish firmly. "I want people to tell me their own histories. I'd feel like a snoop, reading those."

He grins at me. "I see what you mean. Hey, did you know you have pictures here, too?"

I lean forward, look where he's pointing. Notice in passing how he has really elegant fingers, long and slim – piano player's hands. "Pictures?"

"Yeah," he opens the folder. "Whoa. A _lot_ of pictures." He opens one at random, and suddenly my little computer screen is covered in cityscape.

"Iacon," First Aid murmurs. "Before the war."

"It's beautiful," I breathe, staring. And it is. The city seems to have been all tall towers, shining pale walls and glass, catching the light. It's undeniably alien, but it's heart-wrenchingly lovely. "Shame my screen is so small, it's hard to see it properly."

"Yeah." Suddenly he twists, stares at me with a big grin on his handsome face. "Hey, I know where there's a big screen! Your movie theater!"

I stare at him. " _My_ movie theater? Don't you mean Bumblebee's movie theater?"

"No, it's got your name on it, it's yours," he says, shaking his head. "We can connect your computer to the big screen and look at all the pictures there!" He bounces up, then seem to visibly check himself. "If- if you want to, I mean. And if you want me to come."

"That's a brilliant idea, First Aid!" I pack up my computer a bit faster than strictly recommended, and stand up next to him. "Let's go do that!"

"Great!"

Oh, that smile, he could melt the poles, seriously. And when it's turned on me… My heart speeds up.

First Aid takes my hand and pulls me to the door. His alt mode is waiting outside. "You can ride up front this time." He winks at me, pulls me along. His hand is warm on mine, warmer than me, just like last night.

He opens the door to the driver's side. "Not the passenger seat?" I ask.

"Nah, you can sit there," he says, grinning. "Better seat."

As I turn away to put on my seat belt, he vanishes in a cloud of blue sparks.

"I've never ridden up front in an ambulance before," I comment, letting my hands trace the steering wheel. "You'll be driving, right?"

"If you want me to," he replies. The voice comes from the radio. "You should lean back and relax."

I do as he says. It feels nice to stretch my back like that. I press my back into the seat, stretching.

And then the seatback pushes back. In gentle, rhythmic motions.

"Holy crap, First Aid," I gasp. He's massaging me through the seat.

There's a faint chuckle from the radio. "Good?"

"Perfect," I groan, leaning back. "You're the best."

"Well, you said you neck was stiff, so I though the rest of your back needed some work too," he says. If he was a holoform, he would be smirking. "So does this mean that my alt mode's better than Sideswipe's?"

"No contest," I purr. "You're turning my muscles to jelly here. Besides, Sideswipe doesn't know how to keep his eyes – or his hands - to himself."

"It looked like you enjoyed dancing with him and Sunstreaker yesterday," he says, sounding almost – hesitant? Tentative? Disappointed, even? It's hard to pinpoint from the slightly tinny radio voice, but there's something there.

"It was fun, yeah," I agree, "but those two need to learn to respect boundaries. I was just dancing. They were not." I smile, relax even more into the seat. "God, you have a magic touch, Aid. At least they listened when I told them to back off. Though I doubt they would have pushed too hard with both Ironhide, Prowl and Jazz in the room." I chuckle. "I would have been rescued."

"They would never have forced you," First Aid says. Now he sounds annoyed, but I can't tell if he's annoyed with me or with the twins. "They may give only cursory attention to rules and protocol, and they spend more time in the brig than anyone else I've ever met, but they're not cruel." He pauses for a few moments. "I have to admit, I thought you left with them." And again, there's something in his tone.

It's going to drive me crazy, figuring him out. I feel like there's something I'm constantly missing.

"No way. You remember what Sideswipe said yesterday. They're a whole different set of complications." I sigh as the seat finds a particularly stiff muscle. I swear, he's doing this himself, it's not an automatic function, it feels way too good. "I do not need that kind of complications."

First Aid doesn't reply to that. He keeps rubbing my back, though.

I barely notice when the ambulance slows to a stop. "We're here," he says, seeming to have recovered his previous cheer. "You ready to look at some pictures?"

"No," I sigh contentedly, "You've been too good, First Aid. I'm so relaxed I can't move."

He chuckles, and the door next to me opens. Two strong arms lean in, unfasten my seat belt. And then pick me up and lift me out of the car.

"Wha- hey!"

Suddenly, I'm cradled against First Aid's chest, face to face with him. Closer than I've ever been, in fact – the last time he carried me like this, I was borderline unconscious.

"Oh, I'm sorry, didn't you need to be carried?" he asks innocently.

"Oh, ha ha," I grin. "Now put me down."

First Aid, of course, being the perfect gentleman, puts me down on the ground and steadies me until I get my balance back. He even leans in to the ambulance and gets the computer for me.

If I hang around this 'bot too much, I'm going to become seriously spoiled.

I look up at the theatre façade again. It's slightly less impressive with the glyphs not glowing, and the baldachin's been packed away, but it's still awesome.

The door's locked when I try it.

"Oh, here," First Aid says, reaching in over my shoulder with a key in his hand. Noticing my questioning look, he shrugs. A very human gesture for an alien. "Bumblebee told me where he hid the key."

The door creaks open. No, seriously. It creaks. And the hallway behind it is dark, quiet – ominous.

I'll take 'Foreboding' for one hundred dollars.

"You know," I mutter, "I've seen any number of horror films that start like this. The guy and the girl always end up killed by the scary monster/murderer in the dark."

First Aid laughs loudly, and the spell is broken. "It's a good thing you're bringing a scary alien with you, then. I'll protect you, Isobel."

There's an undertone to that. Like he means more than what he says. Is that why he was asking about Sideswipe and Sunstreaker yesterday? Does he feel like he should protect me?

Must look at First Aid's file tomorrow, because him wanting to protect me would explain a lot.

He walks in front of me into the large room we were in this Saturday, turning some lights on as he goes. The room looks the same. The large screen and Blaster's sound system. The couches in the corners where our oh-so-romantic couples sought refuge from the endless commentary track that was Bluestreak and Bumblebee. The humongous couch in the middle of the room. Heck, even the popcorn machine's still here.

First Aid helps me set the computer up with a slideshow, and then pulls me back to the big sofa.

"Now, sit," he commands, pointing to the edge of the seat. "I'm going to work on your neck a bit."

I melt into First Aid's magic fingers, sighing with pleasure as I do. "You know, Aid, you're a real life saver. I would have gotten such a headache later."

"You need to change your work position," he murmurs, his hands finding a particularly sore point and pressing into it, drawing a groan from me. "If you're going to sit in front of a computer that long, at least. There." He gives my neck one last stroke, then lets me go. "Get comfy in the sofa, Isobel. The show's about to start."

I slide back in the couch, and he sits down next to me – not quite close enough to touch, but not that far away either. We sit in silence as the pictures start flowing across the screen.

To be helpful, someone's tagged each picture with a name. I watch, mesmerized, as all the places that I've read about today flow across the screen.

"Aid, your planet was beautiful," I whisper.

The pictures bring city after city to life in front of me. Vos, all reaching towers and high platforms, a city in the clouds. Altihex, nestled in the dark, all gleaming angles and technology. Praxus, gardens of growing crystals in hues from deep lilac to bright pink. Kaon, the dark buildings and sharp edges gleaming purple. Iacon, made from glass and liquid light.

And I realize suddenly that I'm looking at the past. These cities have all been destroyed – some completely, some partially. The crystal gardens and climbing towers are gone. The golden, gleaming avenues reduced to rubble.

It's enough to bring tears to my eyes.

"Isobel?" First Aid sounds concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I murmur. "It's just sad."

He lifts a hand to my back, stroking hesitantly. "I know."

The picture of a large, spreading expanse of dark red – the Rust Sea, the title says – gives way to a picture of a mech.

"Hey," First Aid says, "personnel pictures! Cool, I didn't know those were in there." His hand doesn't stop moving on my back.

"Ultra Magnus? Who is that?" I wonder. The mech looks massive, bigger even than Optimus.

"He's Prime's lieutenant on Cybertron," First Aid says. "I've only met him once."

"He looks – huge," I comment, and First Aid chuckles.

"That he is. He's also very good at his job. It's thanks to his leadership that we've been able to keep a foothold on Cybertron at all."

Next comes a series of pictures of mechs I know, though they look subtly different.

"These are pre-Earth pictures," First Aid explains. "They didn't have their Earth alt modes yet, so they don't look the same as now."

I smile as Ironhide, Jazz, Ratchet and Bumblebee succeed each other on the big screen. "So that's what it is. I thought there was something."

The next picture is of a femme, and she's _beautiful_. All pale rose and soft curves, the photographer seems to have caught her in a moment of introspection – she's looking past the camera, a faint smile on her face. The caption says 'Elita One'.

"Oh," First Aid says faintly. "I've never seen that picture."

"Who was she, First Aid?" I ask quietly. Everything about this picture screams grief.

"Elita One was the Prime's bondmate," he replies. "She was lost, a long time ago. She was killed in the evacuation of the base on one of Cybertron's moons."

"Oh, no," I breathe. "Poor Optimus." I can't imagine losing someone who's literally part of your soul.

"He took it hard," First Aid murmurs. "They all did. She was important – not just to him, but to everyone. She was wise."

I look up at the blue optics on the screen, looking towards something or someone I can't see. "I wish I could have met her."

"I think she would have liked you." First Aid smiles at me, his hand squeezing my shoulder briefly.

The next picture is Optimus himself, though he looks different too.

"He looks younger," I muse, "more innocent somehow."

First Aid stares at me. "You can tell?"

"Yeah," I reply. "It's in the lines around his optics, the way he carries himself. He's not as sure."

"I think this was taken right after he was made Prime," First Aid says. "So it's a long time ago." He chuckles. "I'm not sure humans even existed back then."

I make a mental note to look up on being made Prime. Apparently it's not a name, it's a title. I had it pegged as both, like a Scottish laird – the MacDougal, for instance – but apparently that's oversimplifying things.

Also, the length of their lifespan. Holy crap.

We watch in silence as Prowl, Bluestreak and another Praxian I haven't met – Smokescreen, the title says – appear on the screen.

The next picture has five bots on it. First Aid laughs. I recognize him as the middle bot on the picture. The title says 'The Protectobots'.

Seriously. Protectobots. Could it be any more obvious? Of course he's trying to protect me, with a group name like that.

I twist, grin at First Aid. "Looks like you have a story to tell, Aid."

He looks at me, suddenly a little shy again. "I guess." He nods towards the screen. "That's me and my brothers."

I just stare at him dumbly. "Brothers?"

"Yeah, my gestalt team," he says, like that should explain it all. "Groove, Hot Spot, Streetwise and Blades."

"Okay…" I pretend to keep up. "And are they here on base?" They must be alive, or he wouldn't have laughed when he saw the picture.

He shakes his head. "No, they're in Europe, helping the humans." He points as the picture changes. "That's Hot Spot. He's the team leader. His alt mode's a fire truck, but I guess you can see that. He's fair, and decent. And he's fun to prank."

I lose myself slightly, listening to First Aid talking about his family. He's eager and animated, gesturing with both hands, trying to explain his brothers to me. How Groove is kind and laidback, and can always be counted on to listen, while Blades is more likely to go off on his own and be irrational, but still always had their back; how Streetwise is always up for a game even though he's a really sore loser.

"You must miss them," I say when he finally quiets.

"A lot," he admits. "We talk as often as we can, though."

"Why are you here without them?" I ask, as First Aid's face appears on the screen. "Surely you could help out the humans too?"

"I'm here to learn from Ratchet," he replies easily. He puts his hand on my back again, rubbing against the still-sore muscles. "And to assist him. With the amount of 'bots here, and the Decepticons still active, he needs it." He looks up at the screen again. "And speaking of which…."

The figure on the screen is tall, stately, and almost lovely. Almost.

"Now, him I do not like," I say, frowning. "That is one cruel mech."

"Most people think Starscream's beautiful," First Aid says, smiling slightly.

I shake my head insistently. "No, look at his face. That one's no good. I don't care if everyone else thinks he's the hunkiest thing to ever have his picture taken." I tilt my head, trying to make sense of First Aid's words. "Why do they think he's beautiful?"

"Because he is," First Aid shrugs. "He's a Seeker, which is pretty much considered the ultimate ideal on Cybertron, and he's very handsome. And he's a very skilled flier."

"I don't get it."

The picture changes again.

"Now, _he_ is beautiful," I grin. "Same frame type, right?"

First Aid grins. "Yeah. Thundercracker's Starscream's wingmate." He twists towards me. "You think he's prettier than Starscream?"

"Yeah, definitely. This one's not cruel." Thundercracker's red optics stares at me from the screen. He looks stern, and hard, but not mean.

"It's a good thing you'll never get into contact with the Decepticons," First Aid says lightly, "because Starscream would kill you for that. Then again, he would probably kill you simply because you're human."

I grimace. That isn't a very pleasant thought.

Another Seeker follows Thundercracker on the screen. I look up at Skywarp.

"The last member of Starscream's trine," First Aid supplies helpfully. "He teleports."

That's not reassuring at all. Suddenly, I'm glad of First Aid's hand on my back.

The next face sends shivers down my spine.

It's Megatron.

None of us say anything.

When the picture changes again, it's a battlefield.

It's on Cybertron, it has to be. There are mechs lying everywhere, grey and dull. The sky's almost black, dotted with flying figures. The ground is saturated with blue.

The next picture is similar. Different background, lighter sky. I recognize Praxus. It's been bombed to pieces. Again there are figures in the sky.

And so it goes on. And on. And on.

Vos. Iacon. Simfur. Kalis.

I can't look away.

The next picture shows a bomb going off in a Cybertronian square full of people. And suddenly I can't look anymore. I manage to twist away, lifting my legs into the sofa, arms around my knees. "Please turn it off," I whisper. "I don't want to watch them."

First Aid's arms are suddenly around me. "I'm so sorry, Isobel," he murmurs. "I'll turn it off, okay?"

He disappears for a moment, and the light from the screen changes. I dare to look up, and notice that he's put the picture of Elita One back on. It's soothing, somehow.

First Aid sits down behind me again, hands stroking up and down my arms. "I'm so sorry, Isobel," he repeats. "You should never have had to see that. I think those were old report pictures, meant to show the damage the Decepticons can do. I will talk to Ratchet about them, you should never have been exposed to that."

I draw a deep, shaking breath. I have no words to say.

First Aid pulls me close to him, puts his arms around me. His warmth feels good. I feel like there's ice in my bone marrow.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly.

I shake my head minutely. "I can't unsee it. I… I don't want to think." I turn, lean into his chest. "Tell me more about your brothers. Please."

And he obliges me. He tells me of the time that Blades got his rotors stuck in a ceiling light. How Hot Spot finally managed to beat Streetwise's record in Street Fighter. The way Groove handles the turns, so much more agile on two wheels than the others are on four.

First Aid talks and talks, hands always rubbing at my arms. The drone of his voice is soothing. After a while, and another few, shaky breaths, I manage to relax my arms and let my legs back down on the ground.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly. "That was unprofessional."

"No, don't apologize," First Aid murmurs. "That was a completely normal reaction. We're the ones who should apologize. You didn't need to see those images. I don't know what Ratchet and Optimus were thinking, giving you those. You're not a soldier."

I look up at him from the corner of my eye. "I should know what's going on, though. What they've done."

"There's a difference between knowing the history and being bombarded with images like that," he says, and now he sounds angry. He squeezes me tightly to him for a moment. "I wish you'd never seen those things."

He loosens his hold slightly, lifts up my chin with one finger so he can look into my eyes. "Want me to take you home?"

I nod, shudder slightly. "Yeah. Please."

* * *

First Aid follows me back into my apartment. His holoform was next to me on the way back here, never letting go of my hand, constantly offering reassurance.

Protectobot.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, for the seven hundred and fifty-first time.

"I'm okay, First Aid," I reply gently. He's just asking because he cares, after all - no need to snap his nose off, even though the questioning's getting tedious. "I'm not traumatized. I was just – shocked."

"If you're sure." He looks at me doubtfully until I nod. "Will you be able to sleep?"

"I just need the right music, and I'll be fine," I smile. "Stop worrying about me, okay?"

He gives me a small smile. "I don't think I can." Suddenly shy, he leans down over my computer, twiddling with the picture folder.

He doesn't think he can stop worrying about me? Does that mean I'm going to have a worried First Aid shadowing my steps for the foreseeable future?

I don't know what to make of him, really.

"There," he says, straightening. "I've put the horrifiles in a separate folder, so you can look at the other pictures without bumping into them." He looks at me, hesitant. "You liked the other pictures, right?"

"I did. Well, not Starscream and Megatron." I tilt my head. "What the heck's a horrifile?"

"Oh, you know," his grin wouldn't have been amiss on Bumblebee, it's the perfect balance between cheeky and friendly, "horrifying files. I thought it was appropriate."

"Hilarious," I grin. "And yes, very appropriate." Impulsively, I stretch up and put my arms around his neck, hugging him. "Thanks for tonight, First Aid. It was fun, at least until it wasn't anymore."

His arms hesitantly enclose my waist, squeezing gently. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," he murmurs in my ear. Then he lets go, so I do too.

"If you're sure you don't need anything else, I'm going to go." He shoots me a small smile. "I'll see you around?"

"You will," I confirm, smiling back. "Good night, First Aid."

"Night, Isobel." He turns, vanishes in the now familiar cloud of blue sparks, then the ambulance drives away.


	9. Head first

_Dear diary,_

_I have been reading for three days straight. I feel like my head might explode._

_I haven't gotten that absorbed in anything in ages. Every time I lifted my head, I had forgotten where I was – sometimes I thought I had been at the office but I was home, sometimes the other way around. Once, I had thought I was at the office but I came to myself in the rec room, without even remembering how I got there. And every single time I look up, I'm surprised that I'm actually still on Earth. I feel like I should be on Cybertron._

_I'm not reading anything today. There's still lots of stuff left, but this isn't healthy. I have clients tomorrow, I need to get my head on straight._

_It doesn't help that the base has been so surreally quiet as well. A lot of the bots have been sent out on a mission – Jazz, Bumblebee and Mirage are apparently off somewhere being sneaky, and Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Bluestreak and First Aid were sent as backup and to get the others out if they weren't sneaky enough. That leaves the base short of manpower – or mechpower, I guess - so the others have been pulling extra duty shifts to make up._

_All my usual dudes are gone, either off-base or working. And I didn't really notice how much time I spent with them until they're all absent at once._

_That may also be why I've been reading so much._

_I've got to get out of my apartment._

* * *

Walking without carrying my computer with me feels strange. I'm actually looking around me for once, instead of staring at the screen.

Apparently, I've let this go too far. I guess it was lucky that half the 'bots and many of the soldiers are gone – fewer people for me to crash into in my distracted walking. It's a good thing that it's not that far from my flat to my office.

Now that I'm outside, I don't quite know what to do with myself. Especially since it's the beginning of the day shift, and everyone's either working or resting after working all night. And I'm not really dressed for running.

But I could be.

I turn around and jog back towards my apartment. But because it's the first day this week that I'm outside without my nose almost touching a screen, and the first time with no excuse not to look where I'm going, I full-speed barrel into a metal wall.

"Oh! Sorry!" says the wall.

I take a dazed step back, shaking my head. Drop straight down on my rear.

I'm going to feel that later.

"My bad," I say, squeezing my eyes shut against the shooting stars and holding up a hand towards the object of my road-rage accident. "Should have looked. Sorry."

"Pit, are you okay? You're – um – leaking, there. You know, most humans leak from their olfactory sensors at least once in their lives, did you know that? But since it's because you crashed into me it could be that you're actually hurt. Do you need a medic?"

I open my eyes, realize that I still can't see straight. "I did know that. That nosebleed thing, I mean. Hang on." I try to find my way back up to my feet, but the world spins and I drop right back down. "Crap. Yes, please. Medic."

"Gotcha. I'll take you to Ratchet." Strong, cool metal arms catch my knees and support my shoulders, and I'm lifted up in the air. "You're Isobel, right?"

"That's me," I confirm. "I'm sorry, I can't see worth a damn. Who are you?"

"Oh, sorry, that was rude of me. I'm Rewind!"

"Oh, yeah," I realize. "I've heard of you. You're one of Blaster's – something."

The resulting giggle is loud, and childlike, and I instantly like this mech. "One of his symbionts, yes," Rewind says, still giggling. "Me and my brothers."

I try to open my eyes, but the only impression I get is a dark torso and pale head. Everything's fuzzy and grainy, so I squeeze my eyes shut again. "Brothers?"

"Yeah, Eject's here with me and Blaster, and Steeljaw and Ramhorn are on a mission somewhere. They've been away for ages, but they're okay, so I guess we're okay." He pauses, shifts me slightly in his grip. "You still can't see?"

"I see some," I say, "but it's all – weird. And my neck hurts like hell."

"Oh no, your neck hurts? You should have told me, I would never have moved you. Neck injury is one of the most common traffic accident traumas, did you know that? And it could lead to serious injury, too. Ratchet will use my bolts for spares if you're seriously hurt."

"It's probably nothing," I groan.

"We'll let Ratchet be the judge of that," Rewind's cheerful voice responds.

I suddenly realize what's wrong with this picture – or, rather, why nothing feels very wrong. "Hey, Rewind, you're not that much taller than me, are you?"

"No, just a little bit," he replies easily. "Comes from being a cassette."

"Let me down if I get heavy, okay? I don't think my legs are hurt."

He snorts at that. "Please. I may be short, but I'm more than strong enough to carry little injured you. Besides, we're here. Mind your head!"

I tuck my head and feet into his body, making myself small, as Rewind pushes through a set of doors.

"Oi, Ratchet! You're needed!"

"How in the pit did you manage to get hurt when there's barely a 'bot left on the island!?" Ratchet's voice is far away still, and by the sound of it he's in his bipedal mode.

"Not me, I'm afraid," Rewind calls back cheerfully. I wonder idly if this mech does everything cheerfully. "I crashed into our resident psychologist, and now she's leaking."

"Oh, for the love of Primus." Ratchet sounds resigned. "Hello, Isobel."

I force my eyes open again, see a tall blur. Promptly close them. "Hi, Ratchet. Sorry to crash on your quiet day."

"Well, at least I don't need to rebuild any limbs for you. Over on that berth, Rewind."

I'm placed carefully on a hard surface. Strong metal fingers prod gently at my head and face, and there's a tingle on my skin. He's probably scanning me – I dimly remember First Aid doing the same thing after I was drugged.

"So what happened?"

"I crashed into Rewind," I reply, truthfully. "And then fell on my aft."

"On your _aft_?" Ratchet chuckles. "Been reading those files, have you?"

"Yeah," I grin. "Nonstop. For three days. Probably why I crashed – I'm not used to looking where I'm going anymore."

"Hmm." He prods at a sore spot on my head, making me wince. "Symptoms?"

"Blurred vision, saw streaks at first, nosebleed, dizziness, sore neck," I rattle off. "Bruised forehead and tailbone are going to cause me problems eventually, too."

"Sounds about right, and no less than you deserve," he says. "Mild concussion and bruising. No neck injury. Open your eyes."

I open them, and realize that it's darker. Ratchet's dimmed the lights.

"What can you see?"

I look around. "Outlines," I reply truthfully. "Not details. Then again, I never could see much detail in the dark. Human night vision sucks."

"Darkness will be easier on your optic center than light," he replies. "I'm keeping you here for half an hour, and then I will check you again. Rewind!"

"Ratchet?"

"Since this is partially your fault, you get to be in charge of her for the next thirty minutes," Ratchet says. "Increase the lighting every five, and don't call me unless she convulses, which she won't."

He disappears. Probably in a very mundane fashion, like simply walking out the door, but with my vision he might as well have done a teleporting act for all I can tell.

Rewind climbs up on the berth next to me. "Wow, his bedside manner's improved."

I raise my eyebrows. "Improved?"

"Yeah, he didn't threaten you once. Usually, there's continuous threats and at least one wrench attack involved. He must like you."

"Huh. Well, my dents can't be banged back out. Maybe that's why." I lean back. "He seemed tense, though."

"He always is when someone's out on a mission," Rewind says, mimicking my posture. "Especially if it's Bluestreak or the twins. They tend to come back in pieces. He's repaired them – rebuilt them, even - more times than I can count."

"He did say something like that the other day," I remember.

Rewind brightens the light slightly.

"So do you know when they'll be coming back?"

"Either tomorrow or the day after, I guess," Rewind replies. "We won't know until they're incoming, they're running silent."

I look around, willing my eyes to start working again.

"So this stuff you've been reading, is that on the hard drive that Ratchet gave you?"

I nod and grin. "Yeah. I got completely absorbed."

"I'm glad it interests you." He shoots me a grin, and I'm thrilled that I can actually see it. "I wrote most of the history file, you know."

"I thought it read like someone I hadn't met yet," I smile at him. "So, how come you know so much?"

"Heh. I'm communications." He shrugs slightly – as much as a metal figure can. "History is my field. So Prime asked me to help out. Have you read much of it yet?"

We end up discussing Cybertronian history until Ratchet comes back. By then, the light is almost completely back up, and I can actually see who I'm talking to.

"Much better," Ratchet says, examining my eyes. "Okay, I'm letting you go. No TV for a couple of days. No computer screens, either. No reading. And no strenuous activity in any shape or form."

"Okay," I nod. I can obey orders. Though what the heck I'm supposed to do with myself…

"And no work tomorrow," he says, emphasizing it by poking my chest with his finger. "Medical leave. Understand?"

"What?" I sigh dramatically. "But Ratchet, that's the second time in two weeks."

"No arguments, or I'll make it a full week," Ratchet threatens. "Anyway, I'm willing to bet you've been doing enough reading to validate a day off."

I pout a little at that. "You Autobots are bad for my health."

"Yes, we are. Now stop acting like a petulant sparkling."

I grin at that. "You know, that's the second time in a week that someone in the Autobot command structure have called me those things."

"Well, Optimus is quite often right," Ratchet says absently, putting away his tools. "Now, get out of here before I call you something worse."

Huh. Now that's a statement I have to prod a bit. "Okay then." I let Rewind pick me up and lift me to the ground. "Hey, Ratchet?"

"What?" He's grumbling now – maybe I'll get to see that flying wrench show anyway.

"How did you know it was Optimus who called me that?"

He freezes, and I smirk. Bingo.

And there's the wrench.

Rewind drags me backwards and through the door just as the tool hits the wall behind us.

* * *

_No reading, Ratchet said. He didn't say no writing. There's not even a screen involved. And after spending all afternoon with Blaster and his symbionts, writing is just what I need. And a hot shower. And sleep. Lots of that._

_Man, that Eject can talk! I think I've learned more about sports today than I did through twenty-five years with Jeremy._

_Those two would have gotten along like a house on fire._

_But oh my God, so much talking. In the end, I had to fib a headache to get away. Which, really, not that far from the truth. At least I can see again._

_Tomorrow, I'll go for a long walk or something. That's less strenuous than listening to Eject discussing batters' scores or Champions League goal statistics with himself._

* * *

The first time I'm woken up that night, it's Ratchet.

His holoform. In my bedroom. Prodding me.

"Hey, sparklet, wake up."

I sit up in bed, covers sliding down to pool in my lap. "What in the deepest pit of reason are you doing in my room?!" I shake my head, blink a few times. Not that that changes anything, he's still there. "And what the hell did you call me?"

"You have a concussion," he smirks, conveniently ignoring the second question. "Have to wake you up a couple of times in the night, make sure your brain isn't swollen." Bright light shines into my eyes, making me flinch. "You're good. Go back to recharge."

I throw my pillow at him.

"If you ever come in here uninvited again," I hiss at him, "I'll tell Optimus that you think that his new holoform is hideous."

I have no conscious idea why I pick that threat. As threats go, it's both really lame and really low. I'm fairly certain Optimus didn't send him in here, and telling Boss Bot such a thing after the look that was on his face on Monday – well, I could never do that.

But for some reason – and I need to think that through when I'm awake – that threat hits Ratchet like a kick in the face.

He just stares at me. Then he visibly pulls himself together. "Fine," he snaps. "I'll see myself out." He disintegrates, the blue sparks somehow seeming angrier than usual. Not that that makes any sense.

I drop back on my back with a groan, pulling the covers up to my chin again.

Damn, I was so surprised I completely let Ratchet see me without my shirt on.

Now why the hell would he get so angry when I threatened him with being mean to Optimus?

And what in the blue blazes is a sparklet?

I'm asleep before I finish wondering.

* * *

The second time I'm woken up that night, it's Arcee, for some reason.

Or, no. It's the same reason.

"Isobel, you need to wake up, honey." The voice is soft, quiet, and smooth, warm hands are stroking my hair. "I just need you to wake up and talk to me for a moment, then you can go back to sleep."

I sit up, taking care to keep my covers up this time. Not that I mind Arcee, really.

"Hey, Arcee. You can tell Ratchet that I'm fine, it doesn't hurt anywhere right now, and I'm coherent. Also, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at him like that."

"He showed up in your bedroom uninvited in the middle of the night," Arcee points out. "He deserved being shouted at. But I'll tell him." She leans forward, kisses my forehead. "Night, Isobel."

* * *

When I'm woken up for the third time, I start grumbling before I even open my eyes. "I'm still fine. Now go away and leave me alone!"

"Now, darling." There's hidden laughter in that low, silken voice. "Is that the way to greet a returning hero?"

"Mirage?" I sit up, open my eyes. Make sure covers are in place – this mech's seen it all before, but that doesn't mean I'm comfortable showing it. "When did you get back?"

"Just now," he murmurs, tracing my arm until he can find my hand. "Brief stint in the wash racks and then straight to you." Fingers intertwine with mine. "I thought about you while I was out there."

"Mission must have been simple," I comment, "if you could spare energy to think of me as well as doing your job."

"Yes, well, you're very distracting," he smiles, lips tracing the back of my hand.

"You should know that I have a minor concussion after a run-in with a cassette today, and have been forbidden any strenuous activities," I say lightly, trying to fight the chills his touch is sending down my spine.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Are you all right?" His lips ghost up my arm, trace my collarbone. "You seemed a bit put out when I woke you."

"I'm fine," I grumble, pressing slightly into the light touches. "With a concussion, apparently the patient needs to be woken up a few times during the night. So you're my third visitor."

"Hmm. Am I at least the most pleasant one?"

"The one I'm happiest to see, certainly," I whisper against his cheek. "But I meant it about the strenuous activity."

"Am I strenuous?"

"Mirage, strenuous is all we ever do."

Lips press against mine. "Discontent?"

"I'm not looking for more, Mirage, you know that. But tonight I'm looking for a bit less."

"I apologize, Isobel." Gentle fingers stroke my face, hairline to chin. "I always come off successful missions a bit revved up. Are you in pain?"

"No, it's not bad, really. Bit of a headache, sore neck, sore tailbone." I reach up for him, try to pull him close. He settles next to me with a soft sigh, letting one hand stay on my stomach, stroking gently.

"My poor darling." He kisses my temple. "Go back to sleep. I'll stay with you."

"But you don't recharge in holoform," I argue. "And you just came off a mission, aren't you tired?"

"No, I told you, darling, I'm too high-strung right now, I can't recharge." He pulls me closer. "I'll stay here and look at you, instead, calm down a bit that way." Velvet voice purrs into my ear. "Sleep, beautiful."

I drift off again, under Mirage's careful stroking. My last coherent thought is the realization that although I've been intimate with this mech, I've never been closer to him than right now.

* * *

I've just gotten out of the shower, towel wrapped around as much of me as possible, when there's a knock on my door.

Crap. "Just a minute!"

Or more. Putting on pants while still damp is a job that requires more skill than I can muster at the moment, especially since my head still hurts like hell whenever I move my neck. I curse.

"Don't worry, darling," Mirage chuckles softly from outside the bathroom door. "I'll get it. Don't hurt yourself."

He's just a tiny bit condescending, isn't he?

I hear quiet murmurs coming from my front room while I force my clothes to ignore the dampness I haven't had time to get rid of and just get on already. I wish I'd gone with a skirt – it would have been easier. But it would have given Mirage ideas.

"Darling, medic's here to see you."

I guess Ratchet must have forgiven me, then. I run a brush through my hair quickly and check that yes, I have won the battle with my clothing, and then I trot out the door and into the living area.

Where First Aid is waiting. Looking at me with a confused expression on his handsome face. He's wearing a field medic uniform today – it's a confident look, but his stance is insecure.

"Hey, Isobel. Am I… interrupting something?"

"Don't worry, First Aid. I just came over to wake Isobel up, check that she was fine." Mirage leans in, kisses my forehead much like Arcee did. "I'll be leaving now. Feel better." Then he vanishes, blue sparks tingling against my skin.

"Hey, First Aid. Nice to see you back." I smile at him – I can feel that my smile is tentative, too. There's something in his look that makes me a bit – ashamed?

Now that makes no sense.

We just look at each other for a minute.

"Ratchet wanted me to give you a check-up," he says after another moment, retreating into professionalism. "He told me you hurt your head yesterday."

"Yeah, I ran into Rewind. Crashed into him, rather, breaking the fall with my head." I sit down where he points for me to sit. "Not the nicest way to meet someone, but he was very helpful."

"He's good," First Aid agrees, warm fingers delicately probing the bump on my head. "Any problems with vision? Headaches? Nausea or dizziness?"

"Some headache, worse neck pains, aside from that I'm good," I reply. "Thanks for this, First Aid."

"Of course." There's a small smile gracing his lips. "I wanted to see you, anyway, and when Ratchet told me he needed to run another check on you I volunteered. Gives him more time to work on Bumblebee, anyway."

"What's wrong with Bee?" I ask in alarm.

"Oh, he's fine, it's all superficial," First Aid replies, grinning. "Comes from trying to squeeze through a ventilation pipe that had a smaller circumference than he does. And congratulations, you just used your third nickname."

"I guess I did, at that." I wince as the warm fingers find a bump I didn't know I had. "Ow."

"Sorry."

"'s okay. So you wanted to see me? What about?"

He hesitates slightly, the something back in his eyes. "Wanted to tell you I found out who put those horrifiles in your drive. You can probably expect an apology from Prowl the next time you see him."

"It was Prowl? Really?" Huh. Not who I expected at all. He's worked like I do, he should know better.

"Yeah, apparently he had thought to use them to discuss specific Decepticons with you. I don't think he considered the emotional aspect to them." He grins. "I asked him if he would have shown the Praxus pictures to Bluestreak. He almost glitched at that. Anyway, I thought it would be practical to tell you that and give you your check-up at the same time." The grin slips off his face. "Didn't expect to find you with company."

I don't know what to say to that. The silence lasts until it gets awkward.

"So, you and Mirage…"

I blush. "It's nothing, First Aid. Nothing serious, anyway."

"You're not… together?"

I try to shake my head, but he's got my head in his hands, gently rotating it to ease the pain in my neck. "No. Not like that."

"Okay." His fingers prod gently at a sore spot on my neck. "You're bruised, here. That's probably causing some headache. I'm going to give you some painkillers to take when you need to."

"Thanks."

His fingers move down to my shoulders. "You're tense."

Well, yeah, duh, this is a fairly tense conversation. "I've been reading on my computer too much," I admit. "It's all I've been doing while you were away."

He snorts at that. "Bet you didn't vary your posture either. No wonder you're sore."

He takes my hand, pulls me over to one of my two kitchen chairs. "Sit."

As I do, those warm fingers gently pull my still-damp hair to the side, fingertips brushing my neck. Then the magic touch starts manipulating my shoulders and neck muscles, deftly avoiding any sore spots from yesterday's accident.

I groan as First Aid's talented fingers find and work out muscle knot after muscle knot after muscle knot. "Aid, I want to take out a subscription to your hands," I murmur. "How much for once a week?"

"Heh." I can hear the smile in his soft voice. "You just have to ask, Isobel." His hands move gently across one shoulder, then the other. "I'll be here whenever you want me to. Move to the couch, please, and lie down."

I do as he says, fighting a bout of dizziness as I stand up. Luckily, First Aid being the Protectobot that he is, he's right there next to me, steadying me.

"Sorry," I say, slightly embarrassed. I did just tell him I haven't felt dizzy. "I'm okay, I promise."

"No worries," he smiles at me. "You probably stood up too fast." He takes my hand and leads me over to the couch. "Lie down."

I obey gratefully, putting my head down on my hands. First Aid moves my table aside and kneels next to me. "Let me know if it hurts too much." Warm hands are placed on my back.

And then I melt.

Seriously. I'm gone.

"First Aid, you have no idea how good that feels," I moan. "I'm never letting you go."

He chuckles. "What'll Ratchet say to that, I wonder? Or Mirage, for that matter."

"Mirage will have to deal, and Ratchet is mad at me," I mumble. "I threatened him with foul consequences when he woke me up last night."

"He's forgiven you for that," First Aid replies easily. "He was laughing about it today actually, said you had spunk and that he was glad that all you had at hand was a pillow. What did you actually say to him?"

"Nothing good." I groan as his fingers find a particularly painful knot. "Holy crap, that's painful-pleasant. But I'm glad he's not angry with me."

"He likes people who talk back to him when he deserves it," First Aid chuckles. "And he definitely deserved it, waking you up like that."

"The waking-me-up bit I could handle," I grumble. "It was the coming-into-my-bedroom-uninvited-part that got me. He didn't even warn me yesterday that he was going to do that. If he had, I would have worn my PJs."

First Aid's hands hold still for a moment, before he continues the touches. "I can see how that must be frustrating," he says neutrally.

"Very," I sigh. "Between him waking me first and Arcee waking me later, I was ready to kick Mirage when he showed up." A thought suddenly hits me. "Hey, did Ratchet say whether I need to be woken up for any more nights?"

"If you're okay today, it won't be necessary."

"Good. I don't want Ratchet in my bedroom again."

First Aid laughs. "I'm sure he'd send a proxy."

"Like you?"

He pauses again. "If that would be okay with you, yeah, that would be an option." He sounds – hesitant? Nervous? Apprehensive? But then his hands move again and I lose track.

"I wouldn't mind." Wow, his touch is amazing. I feel boneless. And it's soothing. "Just warn me in advance, so I know to wear PJs."

He chuckle. "At least Ratchet probably didn't care what he saw. And you could put PJs on after he had left."

"I could have done that," I yawn, "but I fell asleep instantly, so I didn't."

Are his hands slowing? "You were undressed for the rest of the night too?"

"I guess," I mumble sleepily. "Not that it matters. Arcee's a girl and Mirage has seen me before."

His hands freeze on my back.

I force my eyes open, look up at him. "Aid? You okay?"

He sighs, and chuckle a bit – but it sounds forced, and the something is back in his eyes full force. "I'm fine, Isobel. Relax." His hands move again. "Next time I'll have Ratchet send me instead."

"Next time? You planning on me getting more concussions?" I'm already half sleeping, and his answer comes from a million miles away.

"If it was up to me, I'd never let anything harm you ever again."

I grin sleepily, glide one hand across the couch until I find him, rest my palm against his chest. "My Protectobot," I mumble, as I fall the rest of the way asleep. His reply is lost to me, already part of the dream.

"Yeah, Isobel. Yours."

* * *

I wake up slowly, not realizing where I am at first. Something's tickling my nose, and I'm very warm. And I'm extremely comfortable.

I manage to open my eyes. Apparently I fell asleep on the couch, face burrowing into the cushions. And the reason I'm very warm is that First Aid's asleep too, sitting on the floor and leaning his arm up against my side, his head resting partly on his arm and partly on my back.

Apparently, he has no problem recharging as a holoform.

It's no wonder he's tired. He came back from a mission in the middle of the night. Who knows if he's slept at all in the last few days. A bit unfortunate that he's lying the way he is, though – he's got me pinned.

Then again, I'm very comfortable. And this gives me opportunity to study him in secret.

His eyelashes really are very long. They throw shadows on his cheeks, I can see that even through the visor. The glass is tinted slightly, but the blue is so pale that the visor's pretty much completely transparent.

When he's asleep, he looks younger. One pale lock of hair is curling across his cheek, a few strands of it hanging across perfect lips.

I fight the sudden urge to touch. I don't want to wake him up.

My gaze moves on, down a pale neck and onto strong shoulders. Over to one arm, stretched along the length of me. His hand is relaxed, fingers loosely curled, and if I wanted I could kiss them without moving my head much.

If I wanted to.

Now where did that thought come from?

What the heck is this mech doing to me?

Knock it off, Isobel. Alien robot, there.

Our last exchange before I fell asleep suddenly comes back to me, and I groan quietly. I guess I seriously did call him _my_ Protectobot.

Must be more careful in future. First Aid's probably not very interested. He's much more sensible, more down to Earth – hah – than Mirage. And he's just acting the way he's wont to, I think, protecting and taking care of and such. He's a medic, after all.

Still, those fingers… And he's still sleeping…

Gently, I let my own fingertip ghost across the knuckles of that hand. The skin – holo-skin? – is soft, smooth, unblemished.

I look down at his face again, and now he's looking at me.

"Hey," I say, embarrassed.

"Hey yourself," he says, lifting his head carefully.

I swear, he sees right through me.

A few moments of tense silence. Then, "How do you feel?"

I process that. "I feel good," I reply, rolling my shoulders and stretching my neck as much as possible in this position. "Hungry, actually."

"Yeah, you didn't eat breakfast, did you?" He stands up, holds out a hand to help me. The Protectobot is back. "Come on, let's go get some food into you."

I take the hand and let him pull me to my feet. "It's probably closer to lunchtime," I say. His hand is as warm as always.

"Yeah, probably," he agrees, smiling easily. "Let me take you to lunch, then."

I hope there are more bots around in the mess hall. I need a distraction.

* * *

Thankfully, a certain tallish yellow scout pounces on me as soon as First Aid puts me down on the table.

"Help me, Isobel! You're my only hope!"

I laugh at that. Seriously, what else can I do? This Autobot can actually pout. Plus, the irony of a robotic alien quoting Star Wars is not lost on me.

"What do you need, Bumblebee?"

"Halloween!" He picks me up carefully, lift me so that we're eye-to-optic. "It's just a week away, and Sides and Sunny won't help me plan! I'm all alone."

"The Terror Twins won't help you plan a party?" Ironhide chuckles. "Wonder what they're up to."

"Who cares, they won't help me! Please, Isobel, I don't know how to plan a Halloween party, and you said we got the other one wrong." His lower lip just out, and baby-blue optics stare at me. "Pleeeease, Isobel?"

Holy crap, he's heart-breaking, honestly. "All right, Bumblebee, I'll help." I wink at him. "You know I could never say no to you."

"That'll get you in trouble yet," Ironhide grins behind his cube of Energon.

"Thanks, Isobel!" Bumblebee puts me down on the table, grinning widely.

"No problem, Bee." I take the food tray that Arcee hands me, tiny in her hands, and sit back with legs crossed. "So what do you need?"

"I can't tell you here, then it won't be a surprise for anyone!" He grins conspiratorially. "I'm off duty for the next couple of days, can I pick you up tomorrow?"

"Sure thing," I grin. "Breakfast date?"

"You got it!" He downs the rest of his Energon in one swig. "Got to go! Sunny's promised to help me with my finish."

I look at him, notice the dull areas on his metal body where new pieces of metal have been attached. "Looks like you need it. Hey, maybe if you don't call him 'Sunny' he might even match your original color!"

The others laugh at that, but nothing can get Bumblebee down. He grins at me as he bounces towards the door. As he leaves, I see Sunstreaker smirking at me before following him. A moment later, I'm surrounded by blue sparks – and then the arrogant twin's extremely good-looking holoform is hugging me tightly and kissing my head.

Just as quickly as he materializes, he's gone.

I stare at the others around me, gaping. "Now what the hell was that about? Why is everyone kissing me today?"

Arcee giggles at me. "If I had to guess, I'd say it was for telling off Bumblebee for calling him 'Sunny'."

"My girl's right," Blaster says, pulling Arcee into his lap. "Our Sunstreaker hates that name. Though he's usually a lot less cuddly. To anyone but Sides, anyway." He looks at me curiously. "Is everyone kissing you today?"

"Feels like it," I nod, taking a bite of my sandwich. "That was the third mech to kiss my head today. Must be kiss-the-shrink day."

"Is that a thing?"

I sigh. "No, Rewind, that's not a thing." I point at Blaster with my fork. "I'd bet it's just because you all think I'm small and cute."

"Well, you are," Ironhide smirks.

I stare up at him. "Oh no, not you, too!"

"What?" he shrugs defensively. "You are small. And you have a big grin and big optics, so of course you're cute." Then he leers at me. "Don't worry, I'm not going to kiss you. She'll have my bolts."

"You bet I will," Chromia purrs, appearing out of nowhere, blue arms snaking around Ironhide from behind. "I'm too jealous to share. Now come on, Prowl wants us." She winks at me. "Bye, cutie."

I drop my head into my hands. "If that turns into my new nickname, I'm suing you all for slander."

Rewind saunters up, settles next to me. "So how's your head? Aside from being kissed on, I mean."

I grin at him. "Fine and dandy. I'm fit for duty."

"Not until Monday," First Aid chastises me gently. "You're on medical leave still."

"Oh I know," I grin at him. "No screens, no strenuous activity. But, you know, my job consists of talking to people, and I'm fit for that duty." I tilt my head, look up at him. "Don't you think?"

Oh, God. I really shouldn't be looking at First Aid.

"So how do you want to dress up for Halloween?"

Thank you, Rewind.

"I have no idea." I take another bite of my food. "I usually prefer to try for something unique." I shoot him a grin. "Kind of hard to do that here, surrounded by aliens."

"Oh, I don't know," Blaster chuckles. "I'd say you're truly unique for the first time in your life, Isobel."

"Huh." He was right, at that. "Maybe I should go as myself, then. Though that's not much fun."

Blaster leans forward around Arcee, grinning at me. "Stand up."

"Um. Okay?" I do as he says, more than a little apprehensive.

One metal digit touches my head gently, and the blue sparks surround me. As they settle, I look down at myself. I'm seriously curious to see what he's got me as.

Oh. I'm Tinkerbell.

Well, I wouldn't have guessed that.

Blaster notices my face, and grins. "Not it?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Aiming for not cute here, remember?"

He grins at that, and sets off the blue sparks again.

"Harley Quinn," I muse, looking down at myself. "Better, but I'm not sure I can pull off that kind of crazy."

The next is a sexy nurse. I look up at First Aid. "Did you need an assistant?"

It's so much more difficult to read his face in bipedal mode. But suddenly a piece of metal snaps shut over his half-open mouth, covering the lower half of his face. That probably means something, right?

Blaster's laughing loudly, so it probably does.

We cycle through Spider-woman, vampire, zombie, Zelda from Ocarina of Time, sexy witch, ugly witch ("no, she has to be pretty," Rewind objects), Mystique ("Whoa, is she naked?"), Eowyn, sexy firefighter and nun, to cheers and groans from the assembly of bots around me.

I look down at myself, now dressed as Emma Frost. "I always knew this costume was an impossibility. Gravity just doesn't work that way." Twirling, I look at my costume director. "I have to say, Blaster, you've absorbed an impressive amount of human popular culture."

"Blame the cassettes," he grins. "They're always watching something. Any last requests?"

I tilt my head, think for a moment.

Then I've got it.

I grin at Blaster. "Make me look like a Cybertronian."

"Cassette-size," he warns, and I nod. The blue sparks envelop me again.

When they settle, I look down at a metal shape of pale white and swirling gold. I'm shaped sort of like Arcee, all soft curves and smooth edges, but I'm wearing a visor like Jazz and First Aid, and I have some form of protrusions on my head like Sunstreaker.

"Someone please take my picture?" I plead, looking up at them. "I want to see this."

"Don't worry, Rewind's filming," Blaster murmurs.

"Primus," someone breathes.

I turn, look around to find that we've drawn what seems like half the bots on the island, and I don't know most of them. "Um. Hi?" I lift a white metal-looking hand, wave at them. "I'm Isobel."

"Not looking like that, you're not," Sideswipe says, smirking at me. "Primus, you look gorgeous, Isobel. But you need a Cybertronian name to go with the look."

I tilt my head. "What's in a Cybertronian name?"

"Stars, constellations, metals, actions," Rewind murmurs. "The names have meaning."

I tilt my head, think about it for a few seconds. "Cynosura."

"What does it mean?" Arcee asks.

"Cynosura was a nymph in Greek Mythology, she took care of main god Zeus when he was little and hiding from his father, Kronos. So to thank her, Zeus gave her a place in the sky, as a star. It's another name for Polaris, the North star, also known as the guiding star," Rewind replies, circling me slowly.

"Well, that's appropriate," First Aid says. "Since you work with helping people finding the way out of their own darkness."

I can _feel_ his optics on me.

"Wow, Aid, that's downright poetic," Sideswipe says. "Maybe you should write wedding vows when you retire, too."

"Like I'll ever be out of work hanging around you guys," First Aid replies lightly. "Speaking of which – Arcee, Wheeljack, Inferno, you're supposed to see Ratchet today. Monthly check-ups."

"Aw, not again," Arcee groans, pulling herself off Blaster's lap. "Can't you just do it here, Aid?"

"No can do, I'm off-duty," he grins.

Arcee leans down and kisses Blaster, before pivoting and heading for the door. She's followed by a tricolored mech with some form of flashing lights on his head and a big red mech, neither of whom I've seen before. That must be Wheeljack and Inferno.

Seeing her kiss Blaster makes me realize that I still don't know if intimacy and touching is the norm in bipedal mode. First Aid has promised to explain it to me twice, but there's no way I'm asking him about that now, I couldn't keep a straight face.

The blue sparks surrounding me fade away, and I'm myself again. "Sorry, Cynosura," Blaster says, grinning. "I'm starting my shift now, so I have to go."

I wave him and Rewind off as the crowd around us begins to disperse. "I'll get you a copy of that video, Isobel!" Rewind calls.

Sideswipe dumps into the chair Blaster vacated. "I'm off-duty too," he grins evilly. "Want to hang out?"

"Sure," I grin, eyeing First Aid from the corner of my eye. He's gotten his metal mask back under control and is wearing a small smile. "But doing what? I'm not allowed screens or exercise."

"Oh, don't worry," Sideswipe says, still with that evil smirk. "I'm sure we can think of something."

Suddenly I fear for my future.

* * *

_'_ _Something' turned out to be hanging out in the rec room playing cards, while Sunstreaker put the finishing touches on a grinning Bumblebee. First Aid assured me that playing cards and games weren't against the doctor's orders – and to be honest, Sideswipe could have come up with a lot worse than that. And I'm pretty good at 'Betrayal at house on the hill'._

_Best of all – they managed to distract me. And with a whole weekend of party-planning with Bumblebee ahead of me, I should be able to stay out of First Aid's way until this whole thing passes._

_Because there's just no way. It may work for Mirage, but he's a deviant, arrogant character who doesn't seem to care what species I am and never talks to me in public._

_No. Suck it up, Isobel. It'll die out if I just give it time to do so._

_I hope._


	10. Understanding

_Dear diary,_

_Well, if nothing else, Bumblebee won't be able to surprise me with the Halloween party. We've got it all planned out. And the amount of use my brain has been put to in the last two days almost caused Ratchet to put me on two more days of medical leave… Thankfully, Bumblebee persuaded him that I was fine._

_That bot seems to be able to spin quite a lot of his superiors around his little finger._

_So I was declared fit for duty last night. Needless to say, Mirage was excited about that – he was waiting for me when I got back to my apartment. Apparently, there was a lot of pent-up energy to be spent… I didn't really sleep much last night._

_I'm still not sure what we have. But at least we're having fun. And I don't think either of us wants more out of it than that, so that's okay._

_It's not like he's not good at what he does. To say it like this - it's a good thing Ratchet didn't see me when Mirage finally let me up to shower, he would have put me on medical leave for a week._

_Speaking of Ratchet…_

* * *

Optimus is in his new holoform, looking more relaxed and comfortable than I've ever seen him. He's ditched his normal clothes in favor of something far more relaxed – a blue t-shirt with silver and red trimming that matches his alt mode's color scheme instead of the dark, military-style shirt, and stonewashed jeans instead of the uniform pants.

He looks _good_.

"So how is the party planning going? Bumblebee told me he had enlisted you."

"Yeah, I'm now the official Party Consultant, apparently," I grin. "Thank God it's only once a year."

"And everyone's invited, huh?" he muses.

"Yeah – everyone's invited, everyone has to dress up, and everyone who's bigger than a cassette has to come in holoform," I rattle off. "Changes to holoform are allowed, but not beyond what's expected from normal human costumes, and costume limits are set to Earth culture." We spent at least half an hour just on those rules – it seemed that it was a distinct possibility that someone, who apparently could not be named but whose designations seemed to rhyme with Class, Master and Darcy, would go to extremes if we didn't set limitations.

"That makes it difficult for you," Optimus points out. "You have to have an actual, physical costume, whilst we can just program one."

I shrug. "Doesn't matter, that's how humans do it. And this party does have an advantage that most human parties don't."

He smiles, politely. "And that is?"

The grin I shoot him is almost saucy. "Wheeljack. He's going to help out with the decorations."

Optimus chuckles silently. "Let's hope the party doesn't explode. Is he also helping with your costume?"

I snort. "Yeah right. Ratchet would have my hide if I let Wheeljack fix my costume. 'Jack's a walking, talking health and safety violation. No, I'm fixing that by myself."

"Ratchet would approve," Optimus smiles. "So you're not going as a Cybertronian, then? I saw the video."

I grin. Everyone's seen the video. I'm practically famous on Diego Garcia now, except that most of them don't know what I really look like. "Nah. I'd have to stick close to Blaster all night, and something tells me he'll be sticking close to Arcee, which means that at some point in time I'd really want to make myself scarce. Besides, it's against the rules – you guys aren't Earth culture. Sorry."

"No, that's true." He smiles at me again – Optimus Prime is not easily offended.

We sit in silence for a while, looking out the window. October is showing itself from its finest side, down here – clear skies and a soft breeze. I miss seasons, though – all we get here is a temperate climate.

Maybe I can convince Wheeljack to help me make fake snow for Christmas.

Optimus is staring into the distance, a small smirk gracing his flawless lips.

"Cube of Energon for your thoughts," I say idly, watching him grin in response.

"I was thinking that your planet is pretty."

"So was yours," I agree. "In fact…" I get out of the chair, walk over to my computer. Activate the projector and the slide show. "Let's enjoy a double view."

Cybertron in all its pre-war glory fill up one of my white walls.

Optimus moves his chair so he can see both wall and window without turning his head much. I settle on his armrest.

"Do you like these pictures, Isobel?" His voice is quiet, contemplative. I sneak a glance at his face; he's gazing at the pictures with a far-away look in his eyes.

"I love them," I answer truthfully. "I turn them on when I need to relax my brain a bit. They're soothing."

"I'm glad you enjoy them," he murmurs. "I cannot stand for its beauty to be forgotten."

We watch in silence as the pictures succeeded each other on the wall.

When Elita One's picture comes up, he tenses. I stand up immediately and move to the desk. "I'm sorry, Optimus, I forgot that the 'bot pictures were in there."

"Don't take her away," he whispers. "That's my favorite picture of her."

I sit back down next to him. "She was beautiful."

"She was _magnificent_. Strong, brave, compassionate, playful, intelligent…" He sighs. "Thousands of years later, and I still miss her every day."

I reach over, squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry for your loss."

We watch as Elita's picture fades and is replaced by crystal gardens.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Optimus looking down at his holoform, a hint of disdain in his eyes. He picks at his red shirt listlessly.

"Hey, now," I lean over, take his hand again. "None of that. You're not betraying her memory by doing what you're doing."

He stares at me, surprised. Probably didn't think I was that good of a mind reader. "She was my bondmate."

"Exactly," I say. "She loved you. Do you really think she would wish for you to spend the rest of eternity alone?"

"Hardly alone," he points out. "I'm surrounded by Autobots."

"And you share your burdens with none of them." I give him a Look, try to get my point across. The leader of the Autobots will not be allowed to sabotage himself. "She was your equal, I think, walking alongside you instead of one step behind."

He shakes his head, looks down. "I'll never have that again."

"Perhaps not," I counter. "But that shouldn't stop you from trying."

There's a small smile on his face as he looks at me. "You are very wise for your years."

I tilt my head, smiling. "Thank you. I think. You know, in human terms, I'm not that young. Not that old, either, but certainly old enough."

He chuckles at that.

We watch a few more pictures, and then I make up my mind. This has been messing with my head all weekend.

"I do have one question, though, if I may," I say, turning to look at him again.

"Of course."

Ha, you're going to regret you said that, Prime.

"Why Ratchet?"

He stares at me, eyes wide, for at least a minute and a half. I'm starting to wonder if I surprised his holoform into glitching – no part of him moves, he's not even blinking. It's eerie.

At long last, he relaxes, shaking his head and giving a desperate chuckle. "There's no keeping secrets from you, is there?"

"Not _from_ me, no," I grin. "But _with_ me, definitely. I told you that nothing will leave this room."

"How did you figure it out?"

I wink at him. "Trade secret."

He laughs, lies back on the chair like he did last week. "Why Ratchet…" He looks up at the ceiling, then at me. "Would you believe me if I said that it's because he lets me be weak?"

I nod. "That makes perfect sense."

"Of course, he doesn't think so," Optimus sighs. "He thinks I should find someone more worthy." He scoffs at that. "I've been alone for longer than I care to contemplate. I don't want to be so anymore."

"How long has this been going on?" I lean back, mimic his position so I can look up at the pictures from Cybertron.

"Ratchet has been there for me since before we came to Earth," Optimus replies. "Ever since he and Wheeljack broke it off, I've been able to go to him."

"Ahaa, I thought there was something between those two," I grin. Well done me. "They argue like a divorced couple."

Optimus chuckles at that, although I'm not sure he knows what the words mean. "They were together on and off for a very long time, but in the end they decided they might as well stop hurting each other and give each other a chance to be happy with someone else. Ratchet took an age of time for himself, and then came to see me one night. Wheeljack…" Optimus grins. "Wheeljack's been flitting from mech to mech since then, happy as a lark."

"He has a very enthusiastic personality," I grin, the memory of Wheeljack dancing from idea to idea to make smoke and ghost shapes and bubbly drinks while Bumblebee looked at him with apprehension at the back of my mind. "I can see where they didn't match up." I tilt my head, think it over. "I can also see why they thought they could work. That enthusiasm must have pulled Ratchet in."

"Of course it did," Optimus nods, looking up at the cityscape on the wall. "It pulls everybody in." He's quiet for a moment, then look at me. "What do you see about myself and Ratchet, then?"

I giggle. "You make me sound like a fortune teller or something. Okay then." I sit up, so I can look at him, make sure I have his attention. "Here's my two cents. You both need to let your walls down. Him more than you – you're actually fairly relaxed in private, but I have a feeling he's got taller walls than you do." I look up at the picture on the wall – Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. "After all, you've both lost 'bots, but he's the one constantly putting them back together. That has to take its toll after a while." I look at him suddenly, and the epiphany in my head must have been loud enough to notice, because his eyes widen. "I think," I say slowly, "I think you'll know if it will work or not if he decides to allow _himself_ to be weak."

I can see him mulling it over, but I know I'm right. Ratchet will be strong for Optimus if that's what Optimus requires, but he needs to learn that Optimus will also be strong for him.

If someone had told me that I would be doing couple's counselling when I took on this job, I would have laughed in their face. There's something surreal – but, strangely enough, comfortable – about knowing that they love as we do.

It's not long after that that Optimus takes his leave of me. I can see that he's still thinking about what I said, which is good. I'm sure we'll continue this conversation at some point.

When I go to my computer, I see that the next appointment, in an hour or so, is Sunstreaker. Referred from Ratchet.

Oh, boy.

Feeling uneasy, I open Ratchet's referral note.

'Sunstreaker needs to learn to live with himself,' it begins.

Well, that's not a tall order at all.

'I'm referring him because it'll get him away from Sideswipe, who usually mediates in any social situation. Sunstreaker likes you, so maybe you'll get through to him. Do not push. He's prone to violence.'

Well, thank you, Ratchet. Good start to the week, getting the most challenging case the Autobots have to offer.

At least this means that Ratchet has forgiven me. Unless it's a very complicated form of revenge.

* * *

_Sunstreaker spent most of his time in my office leaning against the wall, smirking at me. He never said anything, despite my careful attempts to start a conversation, and he never looked away from me._

_This is going to be a looooong course of treatment. I've put him in that slot from now on until eternity too, so that now, my Monday forever reads '0900: Optimus Prime' and '1100: Sunstreaker'. The hour in between is set as paperwork; there's no way I can deal with those two back to back._

_If Ratchet puts Bluestreak on Mondays too, I'm going to rebel. Then again, it would make the rest of my week simple in comparison._

* * *

As I leave my office for the day, someone pounces on me, knocking me forward into a pair of arms.

"Hello, pretty Isobel," Sideswipe chuckles into my ear. "We need your help." He hoists me up – this time I definitely squeal – over his shoulder and takes off at a run. When I lift my head, I can see Sunstreaker running behind us, still smirking at me.

There's a path, then a building, a door that Sunstreaker unlocks, and then I'm unceremoniously dumped on my ass on a couch in a room I've never been in before. I bounce right back up, finger in Sideswipe's face.

"You," I growl, "are in so much trouble."

"Aw, c'mon Isobel, we needed your help," he pouts. And while Bumblebee looks adorable pouting, Sideswipe looks downright dangerous.

Really. That look goes straight to my groin, without taking the detour through my brain - which is currently screaming that this is a very, very, _very_ bad idea.

"What, so asking was out of the question?" I snarl at him.

"Couldn't risk you saying no," Sunstreaker purrs next to my ear. "Please, Isobel?"

I'm concluding that the reason Sunstreaker doesn't talk to people is that his voice is defined as a biological weapon and as such must be kept under tight control.

"We need you," Sideswipe says, adding his own timbre to his brother's rumbling tones still sounding in my ear. He cups my face with his hands. "You're uniquely qualified."

Once again, I find myself as the center of a twin sandwich.

These guys are pushing the boundaries again.

I sigh. Maybe offering to help will get them off me. "What do you need?"

"Brilliant!" Sideswipe's smile could light up a room. And he lets me go, too, so my theory was right – he'll go up close and personal when he needs something, but it doesn't necessarily mean anything.

Sunstreaker, though? He does the opposite. Instead of giving me space, he pulls me closer, purrs in my ear again and kisses my neck, before pulling me back on the couch.

Onto his lap.

I twist, look from one brother to the other. "I'm not comfortable with this. What are you actually asking me here?"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker wear identical questioning frowns.

"Sunstreaker," I say pointedly, "let me go."

He tightens his hold on me, face burrowing into my shoulder. "No." I can feel his mouth moving on my collarbone. Sideswipe's hand lands on my knee, moving up towards my hip. The other hand lands on the back of Sunstreaker's neck, pushing him down closer to me, making his mouth slide over my skin.

Okay. I'm getting scared here. My one advantage with these guys has been that they've listened when I've asked them to back off. If they've stopped doing that… I can feel my heart beating faster, I'm biting my lip, I'm pushing against Sunstreaker with all my strength and he doesn't even notice.

"No, stop," I say, trying to put as much force into my voice as I can. Sideswipe just chuckles.

This could go really, really badly. They're not paying attention to me at all; neither body language or actual language are making a difference here. The hands are still roving, the mouth is still moving on my throat.

"Please stop it!" I'm pushing as hard as I can, trying to pull away, but there's a twin on either side of me so there's nowhere I can go. There's cold sweat running down my spine, and in the back of my starting-to-panic mind I'm wondering if anyone will hear me if I scream. Not that I have breath for screaming – it's hard to even summon enough air to whimper. "Please. First Aid said you wouldn't hurt me."

Sunstreaker's arms drop as if he's been burned, and Sideswipe gasps.

"Hurt you? You think we'd – but that's not – Primus, Isobel!"

I manage to push myself away, jumping off Sunstreaker's lap and all but running over to the door.

"No, wait! Please!" Sunstreaker pleads. "We wouldn't!" He rises to his feet in one fluid motion and makes as though to follow me, but stops when I flinch a step closer to the door. "We wouldn't! Please, Isobel, I swear we wouldn't."

I look from Sunstreaker, wide-eyed and worried, to Sideswipe, surprised and horrified. "Isobel," Sideswipe breathes, "we would never take advantage of you."

I try to get my breathing back under control, hoping my heartbeat will slow down. "Then why wouldn't you let me go when I asked? I said I didn't like it. I told you to _stop_."

"We're sorry about that," Sideswipe says. Sunstreaker just looks at me. "Will you sit down again? I can explain. We won't touch you unless you allow it, I promise."

I shake my head. "No. No way. You two are obviously not respecting my personal boundaries, and you don't _listen_. If I'm going to talk to either of you, it'll be in public." Then I spin on my heel and walk out the door.

"Slag it, bro, we messed up," I hear Sideswipe mutter before the door closes.

I walk as fast as I can away from there, not paying attention to where I'm going at all. My breathing is still too fast, my heartbeat's pounding in my ears.

That was way, _way_ too close for comfort.

First Aid is probably right that they wouldn't force themselves on me. But he probably didn't take into account that they don't seem to take no for an answer. And in all effect, that's the same thing.

It seems like these Autobots could do with a lecture on 'no means no' and that 'stop it' does not mean 'take me, I'm yours'.

I can't have Sunstreaker in my office again until I'm sure he'll leave me alone. I'll have to tell Ratchet that.

"Isobel? Where are you going?"

I turn, look up. And up.

Prowl's blue eyes look down at me, an expression of concern on his face.

"You're going in the opposite direction of the mess hall, out to the edge of the base," he says. "Shouldn't you be taking your meal at this time?"

Looking around, I realize that he's right. "Oh. Yeah, I guess. I just… Sorry."

He frowns, puts down a hand for me. I climb up gratefully. This mech I know I can trust. "Why are you apologizing?" He lifts me up to optic level. "You're upset. What happened?"

I sigh, wipe at my eyes. Hadn't realized I was crying, but then again, not that surprising. Coming down from an adrenaline rush, here. And suddenly I realize that this is probably the bot to deal with the whole situation. He's second in command – he can lay down the law.

And I need the law laid down if I'm going to feel safe working with the Autobots. If I don't feel safe, I might as well leave.

I look up at those glowing eyes. "Can we talk in private?"

"Of course," he nods. "I was just going back to my quarters, would that be acceptable? Jazz may be there, though."

"That's okay," I nod. "Thank you."

Autobots' legs are long, and Prowl soon enters a large, cavernous hangar that has been subdivided into different sealed-off areas.

"Our quarters, Prime's quarters, Ratchet's quarters, Ironhide and Chromia's quarters," Prowl says, pointing at the different doors. "Ratchet often recharges in the med bay, though, and Prime is often at his office. Ironhide and Chromia are on duty."

The door in front of us keys open at his touch. "Jazz," he calls quietly, as he carries me into what seems to be a sitting room of sorts. "We have a visitor."

"We do?" The silver mech with the blue visor wanders in from another room, a screen of some sort in his hand. "Oh! Hey ya, Isobel! To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Prowl puts me down gently on one of the sofa cushions. I stare around me – this sofa is massive. A car could fit in it.

I consider the Autobots around me, and realize that at least two cars do fit in it.

"Not a social call, I'm afraid," I say, crossing my legs under me. "I need your advice and help on how to handle a situation."

"You were upset," Prowl said, looking at me. "Why?"

I sigh. "Because I was kidnapped when leaving my office by two mechs who wouldn't take no for an answer until I begged them not to hurt me, and then I ran from them." I tell them the whole story.

Jazz slams his fist down on the back of the couch. "They's gone too far this time, Prowler."

Prowl looks from his mate to me. "You're unharmed, Isobel?"

"Yes, I don't think they actually meant to hurt me."

"But they did hurt ya, sweetspark," Jazz fumes. "'Coz you don' feel safe with them no more! Think about it, Prowler – she's basically a medic, and now she don' feel safe with two of our soldiers!"

"Do you want us to take disciplinary action against them, Isobel?" Prowl holds out his hand, and Jazz places a datapad into it. "We can do so if you desire."

"I don't know," I reply truthfully. "I think someone needs to talk to them, explain how this world works. I'm the only human woman they interact with from day to day, I'm not sure it can be expected that they know how to behave."

"No, that's wrong, sweetspark," Jazz says, dumping down next to me. "It's the same for us. Arcee or Chromia – pit, most of us - would never stand for that behavior, it's not allowed. And those two slagging glitches know that."

"I'll talk to them," Prowl says. "And they'll be pulling double duty for a week. Sunstreaker's appointments with you will either be cancelled, or you will have someone in there with you until such time as you feel safe in his company again."

"We's not like this, Isobel," Jazz says, looking at me intently. "We don' take advantage. We won' hurt humans."

"Optimus will be very disappointed with them," Prowl intones, looking down at his datapad.

Jazz snorts. "Maybe you should let him talk to 'em. Prime could shame any Autobot into behavin'."

"I assume you feel safe with us, since you suggested we talk in private," Prowl says, looking down at me. "Do you feel threatened by any of the others?"

I shake my head. "No. And as long as there are others around, I can handle the Terror Twins too. I just don't want to be alone with either of them in any shape or form." I look down at my hands. "I'm not strong enough to push them off if they stop listening to me."

"Ya's not goin' ta be alone with them," Jazz emphasizes. "We'll sort it." He looks at Prowl, who nods, looking down at the datapad.

"Leave it to us, Isobel. And thank you for telling, I know it cannot have been pleasant."

"Take ya home?" Jazz says, smiling at me. "Or anywhere else?"

"Isobel hasn't eaten yet," Prowl says absently, still focused on the datapad.

"Well, food it is, then," Jazz grins. "We can swing by your mess hall, bring some food to ours? I could do with th' Energon."

"Sounds nice," I smile. "Thanks."

"Oh, Isobel, before you go," Prowl says, looking up from his datapad again. "I wanted to apologize. First Aid told me that you found the report images I included in your portfolio disturbing."

I snort. "Yeah, you can say that. Nothing like being lulled into a fake sense of security by beautiful pictures of the past and then suddenly being hit with genocide in the making."

Jazz looked from me to his mate. "Prowler, did ya actually put report images from the war in that hard drive?"

I nod. "Aerial attacks on Praxus and Vos, Simfur and Kalis being razed to the ground, Iacon being destroyed from the inside, terrorist attacks on the crowds. Yeah, he did."

Jazz facepalms. A very human gesture. This mech assimilates well – then again, Optimus did say that he was head of special operations. Probably a reason for that. "Prowler, ya know I love ya, but sometimes ya's the dumbest glitch in existence."

"I realize that," Prowl replies dryly. "Isobel, I'm sorry. I didn't think it through, and I should have anticipated your reaction. At the very least, I should have put the pictures in a separate folder and marked them properly, so you didn't come upon them unawares."

"It's okay. I'm just glad I weren't watching them by myself. And besides, First Aid segregated the horrifiles for me so I don't have to look at them unless I want to. And I'm still willing to do psych analysis on the 'Cons – I assume that was what you intended."

"It was," he confirms, "but that can wait. You have enough on your plate right now, with this situation with the twins."

"Plus, ya's party plannin' with Bumblebee," Jazz grins. "That's a full-time job."

I grin at that. He sounds like he's talking from experience. "That it is. I have to get my own costume fixed, too. Unlike most, I can't just program it."

Jazz chuckles at that. "Come on, sweetspark. Let's get some food into you."

* * *

I'm sitting cross-legged on the table top picking at my tray of food when twin shapes of gold and silver barge into the otherwise empty commissary. Jazz looks up from his Energon, frowning. When he sees who it is, he looks downright dangerous.

"Ya's got some brass, showin' up here now."

"Please, Isobel, we need to talk to you," Sideswipe pleads, looking at me.

"Why?" I reply, raising an eyebrow at them. "Do you have anything new to say for yourselves?"

Sideswipe takes a chair across from me, ignoring the frozen snarl on Jazz's face. That's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid; I would have fled the other way had he looked at me like that. Sunstreaker hangs back a bit, but he's staring at me as intently as his twin.

"We're sorry we scared you," Sideswipe says intently, leaning towards me. "We would never force you, Isobel, you have to know that. We'd never take advantage like that."

"We don't want to hurt you," Sunstreaker echoed.

And suddenly I'm furious. "That's great. But you know what, you already did! Might not have gone as far as you'd have liked, but you did force yourselves on me, both of you! No, don't give me those puppy eyes, you don't deserve any pity, because you did do that!" I'm standing now, glaring at them, waving my fork for emphasis. "That was no less forcing, no less harassment, no less _taking advantage_ than if you'd have gone all the way with it. I told you to stop three times! And I fought you! I thought you were going to rape me! No." I shake my head, run a hand through my hair. "You don't get to say sorry and then everything's fine. You don't get to do that."

Three pairs of blue optics are staring at me. Two of them are wide with shock.

"But we didn't… we didn't mean anything." Sideswipe sounds disbelieving. He's leaning away from me.

I chuckle grimly. "Yeah, because that helps. You didn't mean anything by molesting me, it was just for fun. That's why you didn't listen to me, why I had to fight you off, why you scared me so bad that I felt I had to run from you!" I'm growling at them now. "Didn't mean anything. That just tells me how little I'm actually worth to you guys."

"But we're friends," Sideswipe whispers, optics as wide as they go. He looks as though Optimus ran him over in alt mode.

I just shake my head. I'm fighting back tears now. "You know, that's what I thought too. It sucks, because I actually like you guys. But I can't trust you, can I? You don't listen to me." I chuckle – a grim, desperate sound. "You never did, you've been pushing it since we met. It's not acceptable anymore." I turn around, look away from them, blinking. "You don't get away with that anymore."

"Here's the rules," Jazz says. His voice is ice. "You're both on double shifts for a week. You will leave her alone for the same period of time – no talkin' to her, no approachin' her, no anythin'. You're certainly not to be alone with her – if either of ya see her alone, ya's to turn an' walk the other way. Any attempt to be alone with her will be seen as a repeat offense and it's brig time, at the very least. Any attempt to approach her in public, the same. She may approach you in public if she wishes. At the end of the week, there will be a reckonin', and we'll all be present. Dismissed."

"But –" Sideswipe stutters.

"No. No buts," Jazz snarls. "Dismissed."

In the window in front of me, I can see the reflection of Sideswipe, head down, standing up and shuffling towards the door. Sunstreaker stares at me in the reflection, and for a moment I meet his gaze, but then I look away. And he leaves.

I have a feeling I just failed Ratchet's assignment for me. I think I just made it harder for Sunstreaker to live with himself.

At that thought, I finally break down and begin crying. My legs aren't carrying me anymore.

Jazz gathers me up, carrying me like a child. "Hush, sweetspark. Let's get ya home."

* * *

Arcee and Rewind are waiting for us outside my apartment. "I asked 'em to come over," Jazz says quietly. "Figured it would be better if ya weren't alone, and that you'd be okay around Arcee 'cause she's a femme and Rewind 'cause he's a cassette. Send them away if ya don't want them."

"Thanks, Jazz." Company would be nice. Arcee's already in her holoform, dark jeans and pink shirt today. She reaches out and embraces me when Jazz puts me down, but thankfully she refrains from her usual cheek-kissing. I don't think I could take that today.

"C'mon," she says. "It's movie night. Rewind's brought every fantasy and science fiction movie in existence."

I have to giggle. The idea of an evening of sci-fi with two aliens is just too much.

"That's my cue ta leave," Jazz grins. "Ya's in good hands now, sweetspark."

"Night, Jazz. Thanks for helping."

"No problem. Besides, ya handled them really well ya'self." He transforms, and the flashy silver sports car spins away.

"Are you okay, Isobel?" Rewind sounds hesitant.

I nod. "I'm fine. Jazz told you guys what happened?"

"He did." Arcee sounds annoyed. "Slagging glitches. Come on, let's get inside."

* * *

"You know what gets me?"

We're half-way through the _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy. Arcee twists in my lap and look up at me. "What?"

"I feel guilty about the whole thing."

Rewind pauses the film, stares at me. "What? Why?"

I shrug. It's hard to put words to it. "It feels like I made a big deal out of something that wasn't a big deal at first. And there's so much slag in their past, I feel like I made everything worse. I'm a trained professional, I'm supposed to help them."

Arcee sits up between us and looks at me. "That's – what's that phrase Lennox used the other day? That's first rate bull-shit, Isobel. Yeah, you're supposed to help, but you're not supposed to let them take advantage of you."

"They were way out of line," Rewind agrees. "Let me ask you this. If Bumblebee or Blaster had tried something like that on you, would you have reacted the same way?"

I frown. I can't actually imagine a scenario where either of them would, and I say so.

Arcee snorts. "If Blaster had tried something like that with me, I would have shot him. It's just not acceptable."

I sigh. "That's as may be. I'm afraid I made everything worse for them."

Arcee shakes her head insistently. "If you were talking to a woman, in a professional capacity, and she told you what you're telling us right now, what would you say?"

I grin. But it's a bitter expression. "Your body is not a tool that others can use to fix themselves. You should never let someone treat it like one."

"Exactly. So why don't you take your own advice?"

"More importantly, why are you suddenly thinking that being their tool would help them at all?" Rewind adds. "For all you know, you'd be perpetuating a vicious cycle. Most sexual offenders start small, you know. If you had let them get away with this now, they might have tried something worse next time."

I look from pale, gorgeous holoform to strong, intelligent cassette. "Are we seriously pegging Sunstreaker and Sideswipe as sexual offenders now? That feels kind of harsh."

"They did harass you," Rewind says.

Arcee shakes her head. "No, you're right, that would be reading more into it than it was. They're not cruel mechs at heart. I think they did something really dumb. They acted stupid, without thinking, and you called them on it. Good for you. Will they be sore and confused? Pit, yeah, they will, because this has never happened before. They're good-looking enough, Sunstreaker especially, that whatever – whomever – they wanted has just fallen into their laps. And here you are, getting right back up and scolding them for expecting it. Think of it as a learning experience for them, something they need. Most of the rest of us learned that lesson a long time ago."

"This meeting Jazz was talking about in a week's time will be enough to clear it all up, I'll bet," Rewind says. "And it gives them time to think things through, too. Don't worry, Isobel. They may feel like slag now –"

"- and they deserve to," Arcee adds.

"- but as much nastiness as they've been through, this by comparison little thing won't ruin them in a week. And as Arcee says, they need to learn that they can't treat anyone that way. Especially not their friends."

I sigh. "So you think we'll still be friends at the end of it?"

"If not, we'll know who to blame, and it's not you," Arcee says decisively.

Rewind puts the movie back on, signalling the end of the discussion, and Arcee flops back over to lie in my lap.

I don't feel like that was the end of the whole thing. I don't think I'll feel okay about this until I've actually talked to the twins about it. But there's no way in hell I'm up to doing that now.

Guess we're in for a tense set of days.

* * *

_Tense doesn't really cover it. I can feel Sideswipe's eyes on me whenever I'm out in public, and if I actually look back at him he looks like a kicked puppy. Sunstreaker just broods. I've decided that I don't have the heart to cancel his appointments, he needs those. He'll just have to function with someone else in the room with us, at least for a while. And I'm going to read his file – I need whatever edge I can get over these guys._

_And then there's First Aid. Sometimes the tall, visored robot, but more often (at least around me) the blond, gorgeous holoform. Always there, always with a shy smile and a look under those absolutely amazing eyelashes, always ready to catch me if I fall._

_And boy, am I falling._

_Between the three of them, I'm dancing on eggshells. I've never actually had to avoid three people at once in such a small space before, it's exhausting. And for one of them, I really don't want him to feel as though he's being avoided. First Aid hasn't deserved that. It's not his fault that I can't get my emotions under control._

_Thank heavens for Bumblebee and this party of his. He's cornered me every chance he's gotten, talking about costume details or who's coming and not coming or Wheeljack's latest ideas. With him always next to me, babbling incessantly, it's been easy to duck away from Sideswipe's lost looks and to just shoot First Aid a smile whenever he's smiling at me. Which is fairly often._

_Yeah, I'm keeping count. Embarrassingly enough._

_I'm getting exhausted, keeping this pace up. Working normal hours, spending all afternoon with Bumblebee, sometimes until late in the evening, and then more often than not coming home to find Mirage already there and waiting for me… I just want to go to bed and sleep for a week. In fact, I'm going to talk to Ratchet or Optimus or Lennox or whomever is actually in charge of me and ask for at least a few days off._

_Next week. There's a few more days to get through first. First, a whole day of party setting-up followed by a night of frolic and mayhem. If I can stay on my feet. Then, the day after that, the meeting that will – hopefully – let both me and the twins put this idiocy behind us and move on to some form of normalcy._

_If that's at all possible here. It hasn't been so far._


	11. Put a spell on me

"That high enough, Isobel?"

I take a step back, look up at where Bumblebee's standing. "Yeah, looks good."

One shot of the nail gun, and the banner's up. Bumblebee jumps agilely backwards off the chair. "Brilliant. That's the last one."

I look around. What was once a conference room and then a movie theatre has been turned into a den of monstrosity. Wheeljack's set up vials and beakers of a strange green liquid that glows in the dark and give off smoke continuously – because of these we had to ban marshmallows from the party as the combination apparently is quite volatile; I've decided that I really do not want to investigate too closely something that could explode if in contact with sugar candy – and he's rigged a bunch of tiny mechanical critters to crawl around on the walls. These freak me out way more than they do Bumblebee, which he of course thinks is hilarious. Add to that the hollowed-out, glowing metal jack-o'-lanterns placed all around the room, the fake cobweb that's hanging from the ceiling, and the glooping, dripping foulness that has been smeared across the windows, and the place is unrecognizable.

Wheeljack is a genius. I'm not touching any part of this room tonight.

And I'm already dreading the cleaning-up.

I join Bumblebee in the slow spin to take everything in. "Yeah. We've got Halloween."

"Excellent," Bumblebee says, sounding very satisfied. "Much better than the pink crepe paper."

I giggle. "Much better."

He spins, catches me by the upper arms. "Tell me what your costume is."

"No." I grin at him. "For the last time, Bee, I'm not telling you, you'll have to wait and see."

"Aw, no fair," he pouts. "You know what I'm dressing as."

"Yeah, but I didn't ask," I point out. "You just decided to show me. So fair doesn't really come into it." I look at my watch. "Anyway, got to run and change now, Blaster is coming in 45 to set up. Will you be able to get the refreshment stand set up by yourself?"

"You bet. Or I'll just rope in someone." He grins at me. "This is going to be awesome."

* * *

_This is going to be trying, to say the least. I'll have to face both First Aid, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker tonight. I've managed to dodge all three of them all week, but that's going to be tricky in such a small space, and I know they're all going to be there, so there's nothing for it. At least it's going to be too loud and too full of 'bots and humans to do much more than grin and dance._

_And I have to admit, I'm more than a little excited to see what the 'bots come up with in terms of costumes. When I talked to Lennox he indicated that several of them have been to see him to ask for details of a costume idea or other._

_I'm dead curious about who's going steampunk style. Lennox had to look that one up._

* * *

Clothes – check. Black, slim jeans, tall boots with plenty of buckles and a tight black t-shirt that upon closer inspection leaves very little to the imagination.

Hurried scrimmage through closet to find another shirt.

Realizing, for the third time this week, that my wardrobe hasn't magically changed and that there is no other shirt.

Blast it. Cave and pull shirt back on.

Hair – check. Pulled back into a sloppy blonde braid that took twenty minutes to get perfect.

Makeup – check.

Now then, accessories.

I fasten the hip holsters first, then the sheath on my calf. One belt around my hips for the heavy gun, another for the smaller gun on the other hip. Leather belt goes around my waist, and heavy bullet bracelet goes around my left forearm.

I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

The base is eerily quiet as I walk back to the party venue. I guess everyone's either inside getting ready or hiding somewhere. Fitting – it is the day the dead walk the earth, after all.

I giggle to myself.

Okay. Maybe I'm more than a little nervous.

The venue looks like it did, with the addition of a normal-looking Blaster setting up the sound system in the corner. There's no sign of Bumblebee.

"Hey, Blaster," I call. "Happy Halloween! Forgotten something?"

"Hey, Isobel," he grins at me. "Nah, it's pre-programmed but there's a big reveal planned. You look good – Lara Croft?"

"Black Widow," I smile back. "The blonde version."

"Nice." He eyes me appreciatively, then turn back to his wiring. "Are the guns real?"

"Real, but not loaded," I confirm. "Courtesy of the US Army."

He laughs loudly at that, then flicks a switch. Immediately, the room plunges into darkness, strobe lights light up the ceiling and windows – and oh, doesn't that have an interesting effect on the gooey windows – and 'Battle without honor or humanity' blares from the speakers spread around the room.

As if the music was a signal, Bumblebee appear, grinning madly. His grin matches the green hair and purple suit.

"Looks good, Bee, but I still say you haven't lived nowhere near long enough to pull that off." I grin to take the sting off the words.

"Mute it, Romanoff," he smirks. "I'm several millennia older than you." He looks from me to Blaster excitedly. "Okay, okay, so listen. Everybody's waiting outside." The hand movements, the wide eyes, the grin that seems wider than physically possible… He looks downright nasty.

"Well then," Blaster chuckles, "let's get this party started, huh?"

He flicks another switch, and a spot light turns on, aimed at a raised stage in the center of the room. Blaster leaps up on it easily, and then turns and beckons to me. "Come on, deadly, get up here. This is your gig, I'm just the master of ceremonies."

I turn to the purple suit. "Bee?"

"Nah, honey, I'm going to get the doors. You get up there." He leers at me, and bounces over to the door. I let Blaster hoist me up on the stage.

"You guys ready?"

There's a cloud of blue sparks next to me, and I look up curiously.

And flinch backwards. "Holy crap, Blaster."

I'm standing next to a demon.

Really. He's got horns. Big, leathery wings. His eyes are _glowing_ , light escaping in little feelers. There's tendrils of smoke coming from his dark, shining skin. Also, he's mostly naked. What there is of modesty is preserved by straps and pieces of leather armor.

I guess I know now why Bumblebee thought Blaster might go a bit overboard. Just a tad. Slightly.

He shoots me a truly evil smirk. His teeth are all pointed. "Unholy, my girl."

Well, obviously.

"Come on, strike a pose," he says, looking me over. I do so, feeling ridiculous.

Blaster shakes his head. "Nah, that won't do." He starts moving me like a mannequin - pull one arm back, push one of my legs forward, tilt my hips and raise my chin.

"Nice," Bumblebee calls. "Are you guys ready now?"

"Finishing touches," Blaster promises. He pulls a gun from one of my holsters and presses it into my hand. "Hold this. Look cocky. Come on, you're a double agent assassin secret weapon, look the part. Better."

The music stops suddenly, and Blaster turns to the door, striking a pose of his own – wicked grin, arms out like a circus master, fully functional wings spread. He looks terrifying. "Okay, lil'Bee, on three. One."

'Thriller' blasts from the sound system.

"Two."

Bumblebee grins widely and takes hold of the double doors.

"Three!"

The doors are thrown open, and all hell breaks loose.

There are so many of them. And I can't recognize a single soul, they're all strangers, all with a wild look in their eyes, all grinning madly – the faces that aren't behind masks, at least – and the strobe lights are messing with everyone, so no one looks real.

It's a sea of faces. If I hadn't stood next to Blaster when he changed, I wouldn't even have recognized _him_.

"Welcome, one and all, to the greatest gathering of madness this side of the war!" Blaster shouts loudly. "Come in, join the insanity! Just tune in, turn off, drop out, drop in, switch off, switch on and explode!"

A dead man in the crowd laughs and tips his elegant top hat to Blaster.

The sea of bodies parts around our stage and fills the room, and still I haven't recognized anyone. It's unnerving. Very unnerving, in fact. I'm almost feeling a little dizzy. Many of them are looking at me, but none greet me, and I can't even recognize the ones I look back at when they're staring.

I'm becoming really, really uncomfortable up here. Like I've fallen down the rabbit hole without even noticing it, and suddenly everything's askew.

When a winged apparition leaps up to join us, I almost fall off the stage.

She's beautiful. Skin all shadows, pale silver hair held back by a web of pearls, fluttering butterfly wings of soft grey and black, short dress made of leather and silk ribbons.

The creature throws her arms around the Blaster-demon and kisses him, before turning to me, eyeing me with wide silver eyes under dark eyebrows and smiling.

"Isobel! You look fantastic!"

It's Arcee.

Of course it's Arcee, and suddenly the world is back on it's normal axis. The people around me are normal – well, normal-ish – again, and I recognize Jazz underneath the top hat, Bluestreak in green with a giant sword, Sideswipe with dreadlocks and pirate's trappings.

My pulse slows back down, and I return the fairy's hug with a grin of my own.

"Arcee, you're bending the rules a bit."

She winks at me. "Everything but the wings moving could be achieved using traditional human means." She gives me a gentle push. "Go on, get down there, mingle. Let me enjoy the master of ceremonies."

I raise my hands, take my finger off the gun's trigger. "Go ahead, you're welcome to him. I prefer my guys less chaotic evil, anyway."

Arcee takes hold of my shoulders and spins me around. "Have fun, precious."

These Autobots like their nicknames. At least I understand what that one meant.

Dead man Jazz appears below me, holding his hands up. "Help ya down, sweetspark?"

Now, that's one that doesn't make too much sense yet. I'm adding it to the list of words to ask Optimus or someone about.

I tilt my head. "I don't know. You look pretty scary."

He does. Jazz has gone full-out day of the dead – black suit, white shirt and black bow-tie, black top hat and skeleton makeup. But not the garish heavy black-and-white contrast; every shade bleeds seamlessly over in the next, so his face looks like it's made of light and shadow. The blue eyes in the back of dark, almost black eyeholes is especially disconcerting.

He grins at me, and I shudder. "So do you, sweetspark. Do ya even know how to use those things?"

"I can hit the broad side of a 'Con," I grin. "Comes from having too much free time on an army base."

That has Jazz laughing, and he reaches up to lift me down with that insane holoform strength. I grasp onto his shoulders and let him lift me – but instead of putting me down, he places an arm around my legs and carries me away from the stage.

"Um. Jazz? Are you kidnapping me too?"

"Nah, Isobel," he chuckles. "We're goin' ta find Blue, he wanted ya to approve his costume. See him anywhere?"

I stretch, standing arrow-straight in Jazz's arms, and look around. "He's over by the drinks, with Bumblebee."

"Great!" Without further ado, I'm dropped to the ground. Jazz takes my arm and semi-pulls me over to the corner where Bumblebee's set up the refreshment stand. Apparently, the holoforms can't process food or drink, so the table's full of human snacks that the Autobots are just eyeing speculatively.

Bluestreak bounces up and down to the music, but he stops and grins when he sees me. "Isobel! Hey, you look great! I didn't know you liked guns. Or, I guess you don't have to like guns to wear them, it sure looks good on you though, but I don't know if you like them or not, I guess it's a bit rude to assume, isn't it? Can you actually shoot them? Because I would love to go the range with you if you can, you can bring those and I've got my rifle, you've seen that, right? I love it, it's custom-made for me and there's barely any recoil, but I guess those you have don't have any either since they're so small. Did you have something to drink yet?"

I let the stream of consciousness wash around me. There's not much else to do with this puppy-dog Autobot. "Hey, Bluestreak, no, I haven't. And these aren't mine, I've borrowed them from Lennox for tonight." I take out the Colt and the Beretta from the holsters on my hips and give them to him. "They're not even loaded."

"She can shoot'em though," Jazz smirks. "Says she can hit the optic of a 'Con at three hundred meters."

I twist, stare at him. "What? No! I'm not a good shot, I just hit my target on the practice yard. Mostly."

Jazz is laughing at me. Aft.

"They look good," Bluestreak says, handing the guns back. "Tiny, though, but I guess they'd have to be, because you're not that big, are you? Sorry, was that rude? I'm sorry, here, let me get you a drink."

He turns, showing off the long sword and blue and silver shield on his back. Not that I needed those to have him pegged – the green shirt and hood and the white pants did that already.

"Thanks, hero of time," I say as he hands me a glass, and he beams at me.

"Hey, you got it! That means it's good enough, right? You knew who it was! I had such trouble because there are so many pictures, and I was afraid to get something wrong, and I've never played the game so I don't know anything about him, but Sideswipe suggested him for me and I thought it was really cool."

I grin at him. "You look awesome. You should come over to my place and play some time, I've got all of the games."

"Can I come too?" the Joker grins at me.

"Not looking like that, you can't," I say, pursing my lips. "I don't tend to invite homicidal maniacs into my home."

"What about me?"

I look sideways at Jazz. "Nah, you're dead. Dead people don't play video games."

"Can I come then? I'm not dead. Or evil."

My heart drops straight down to my heels, and my stomach's suddenly full of fairies with black and silver wings. I turn towards the owner of that voice.

Oh my.

First Aid's a Jedi.

And he looks _good_.

He shoots me a shy grin. "So can I come?"

I grin back. It's hard not to, with this mech. "Absolutely. We can play multiplayer." I pause, try to get raging crazy butterfly fairies under control. "You look good."

"Thanks. So do you." He looks down at himself. "Did I get it right?"

"Absolutely." There's even a lightsaber hanging from his belt. I reach out, touch it tentatively. "That thing work?"

He unhooks it deftly, activates the blade. It glows a bright blue.

"Wow," I whisper. "That's the coolest thing I've ever seen."

First Aid looks inordinately pleased at that. Carefully, he takes my hand and places the lightsaber into it.

"It works away from you?"

"It does if you stay close like this," he replies. "If you move away, it'll vanish. I can't extend it like Blaster can."

"An elegant weapon for a more civilized age," I breathe. I take a step closer to him and swing the lightsaber through the air carefully. It goes 'hzzmm'.

Okay. Heavy nerdgasm there. I'm practically bouncing on my toes.

"It's even making the right sound!" I squeal and beam up at First Aid. "This is so awesome!"

"Heh. I'm glad you think so." Small smile, a flash of blue under those eyelashes. A hand lifts, touches my neck gently. "How are your muscles? You haven't had your weekly massage this week."

And that, right there. That's why I was avoiding this mech. How the heck do I salvage this?

Do I even want to salvage this?

Yes, you do, Isobel. He's an alien. Don't get emotionally entangled.

But oh, it's so tempting to lean into that touch.

"Yeah, I'm good," I reply quietly. I don't dare meet his eyes.

"I have barely seen you this week," he says, in the same soft tones. "You've been so busy."

I nod, trying not to notice the way that settles his hand across the back of my neck. Instead, I'm studying that lightsaber intently. It's very interesting, yes, I'm completely absorbed in it. Definitely not noticing anything else.

His hand's very warm.

"Ladies and gentlemen, mechs and femmes! Step right up, step right up, it's time for tonight's entertainment!"

Thank you, Blaster.

I turn towards the stage, watching the demon prancing back and forth on top of it. Bluestreak materializes at my elbow, chattering excitedly over Blaster's continued presentation.

"Oh, great, Bumblebee mentioned this! It's the Costumed Character DeathMatch ShowDown!"

I can _hear_ the capitalization. "The what now?"

"Any Autobot who dressed up with a weapon will be summoned to fight someone else who dressed up with a similar weapon! See, Sideswipe's going up against Mirage because they both have swords. And then winners battle winners until there's only one left! It'll be so cool!"

This is news to me. Bumblebee must have planned some surprises on his own.

"What about those of you with guns?"

Bluestreak frowns. "I don't know. They can't really shoot each other on stage, can they? That'll be messy and stuff, and besides, we shouldn't shoot at each other, the 'Cons do enough of that. Maybe it only works on other types of weapon?"

I look up at the stage. Blaster is standing to one side, with Lego-Eject on the other, acting as referees. Sideswipe the pirate is doing his best against Zorro - and even if Bluestreak hadn't given away who was under the mask I would have recognized that grace anywhere - but it doesn't seem to be an even fight.

"Mirage probably learned bladefighting as part of his upbringing in the Towers," First Aid says.

"Yeah, probably," Bluestreak agrees. "Sideswipe is used to fighting with two swords, and not in holoform. Look, he's not compensating for the different center of gravity, plus Mirage is faster and more agile." He grins. "Sides isn't taking it seriously, either, and Mirage is. Looks like one of us has to take on 'Raj."

I turn to First Aid. "You're fighting?" Something about that doesn't add up

And he shakes his head. "No, I'm not. That's not something I do."

"No, that's true, you don't, do you? Wonder who I'm fighting then." Bluestreak grins. "It certainly won't be Sideswipe."

No, it won't. Sideswipe is on his knees, weaponless, grinning madly with the point of Zorro's blade against his throat. "Quarter!"

"Winner!" Eject bellows, taking Mirage's arm and lifting it above his head. "Mirage goes on to the next round!"

The giant TV screen at the end of the room lights up with a line of pictures along the bottom. Sideswipe's pirate is crossed out, and Mirage's Zorro is raised to another level.

"Next!" Eject calls as Mirage gives Sideswipe a hand and pull him up. "The merc with the mouth, and the hero of time! Also known as Skiiiiiiids and Bluestreak!"

Eject is having so much fun with this, it's ridiculous. The one and only chance for a cassette to act as a sports commentator.

Bluestreak grins widely and leaps up onstage, while Deadpool climbs up on the other side.

Seriously. _Deadpool_.

Not a guy in a Deadpool costume, no. The holoforms don't work like that. He's programmed it to _be_ Deadpool.

Cue another bouncing-on-toes-high-frequent-squee-mad-grin nerdgasm.

First Aid shoots me a confused smile, and the hand on my neck drops down to rest against my back. "I take it you like his costume?"

"I love Deadpool," I nod, still grinning. "But he's a tough bastard to pull off, I'm curious to see if Skids can manage."

It's apparent fairly quickly that he can't. "Ya didn't download programming for fighting two-handed, ya glitch!" Jazz crows from somewhere in the crowd, and I giggle. Skids is trying to block Bluestreak's attack, but he doesn't seem to know what to do with his left hand, and whenever he tries to use it he fumbles. Bluestreak barely needs to fight him – Skids is doing a fair job defeating himself.

I shake my head sadly. "A pale copy, nothing more. How disappointing."

"Winner!" Eject calls as Skids' picture is crossed out from the screen. "Next. Fistfight flurry of claws and webs – raise your hands for Chromia and Muuuuudflap!"

We watch as Eject enthusiastically referees the Spiderman/alley cat showdown, and then a Terminator/Robocop match where Prowl thoroughly trounced Ironhide. It's hard to say how he managed – one moment they were rushing each other, and the next, Ironhide was on the ground.

Prowl as Robocop. I didn't know he possessed that kind of self-irony.

"Winner!" Eject is grinning so widely I'm surprised he can even talk. "Next, and last of the preliminary rounds – our only gunslinger duel! Let me present the witch hunter versus steampunk Doc Holliday – Wheeeeeljack and Rat-cheeet!"

I stand on my toes, straining to see. "Ratchet went with steampunk? I was sure it would've been Wheeljack!"

Wheeljack climbs up on stage first, grinning madly and turning. "Where are you, old man? Afraid to face me?"

"I am not afraid to face someone who beats on women for a living," comes the sneering response.

I'm bouncing so badly First Aid has to steady me to keep me from falling over.

They look so cool! Wheeljack is all leather and buckles, grimy shoulder plate armor, tall boots, and long, weathered leather jacket. Ratchet is clean-cut and prim; white shirt under black vest, black pants stuffed into shined boots, dark hat – and metal everywhere. His arm is encased in some form of external strut system with hydraulic joints, one eye is bionic, and his left leg is partly exposed moving metal.

I have no words. I spot Optimus under a cowboy hat in the crowd – he doesn't seem to have any words either.

The two on the stage are busy trading insults and smirks, circling each other, hands inching closer to holsters on hips.

"They must have rehearsed this," I say breathlessly, leaning into First Aid's support.

"Ratchet and Wheeljack have known each other for millennia," First Aid murmurs in my ear. "I'll bet they can wing it off each other without even trying. It might all be improvisation."

I nod, eagerly eyeing the duelists. It's like a well-choreographed dance up there. I turn my head slightly, murmuring against First Aid's cheek. "So who do you think will win this one?"

"Hard to say." His chuckle tickles my throat. "Ratchet never loses easily – but then again, Wheeljack knows all his tricks."

I nod, turning my attention back to Wheeljack's taunting of Ratchet's inability to hit the broad side of a planet without aid. And then I freeze.

Wait.

Wait just a blasted second here.

When did First Aid get so _close_?

His arms around my waist, holding me close to his body, his head next to mine with his chin resting lightly on my shoulder.

Not only that. But I've got my hands on top of his, somehow. My head is leaning back against him, tilted slightly to touch against his cheek.

Holy epic mindfuck.

I rewind quickly in my head. Hand on neck turned to hand on back, turned to support on waist when Deadpool emerged, turned to two hands on my waist as the crowd moved to let Ironhide get up on the stage, turned to two hands _around_ my waist as Prowl got back down, turned to me stepping into that embrace as we were pressed towards the stage as Wheeljack and Ratchet made their appearance.

Wow.

This is one _sneaky_ Protectobot.

"You okay?" Warm lips brush against my ear.

I look past the stage to see Optimus looking at me, a small smirk on his face. I guess I look as shocked as I feel.

My plan to keep an emotional – if not physical – distance and keep First Aid at arm's length just crashed and burned. There's no way I can push him away now – not just because I myself really don't want to, but because there's no way I could hurt him like that.

I stand nailed to the ground as that realization hits me.

He wants this.

He _wants_ this.

If he didn't, there's no way he would be holding me this tight.

Our interactions over the last few weeks just take on a whole new meaning when I see them in that light.

I nod, still more than a little shell-shocked by my epiphany. "I'm good."

The crowd roars around us, but I have no idea why. I don't know what's going on up on the stage, who's winning there and who's losing.

First Aid's arms tighten, squeezing me gently. "I'm glad." Those lips close to my ear again, warm breath ghosting over my cheek.

My mind short-circuits.

But my body doesn't. My fingers gently trace First Aid's knuckles, like they've been doing for at least the past ten minutes without me noticing. I lean my head sideways into his neck, feeling the mild, electric thrumming that's distinctly holoform – no heartbeat for these guys, no; instead, a warm, gentle, constant vibration reminiscent of the resonance of electronic equipment.

Up on the stage, Bluestreak is losing spectacularly to Mirage – Blue's sword is too big for him, and he's having trouble countering Mirage's swift attacks. I look past them, find Optimus in the crowd again. He's talking quietly to Ratchet, heads close together, one hand on the metal-encased shoulder.

It might look normal, but for those two, it's the equivalent of Sideswipe kissing Sunstreaker's jawline.

Or like First Aid holding me so tightly.

Suddenly, it's too much.

I twist slightly in First Aid's arms, turning towards his face. "Aid, could you give me a minute? I need to go be human." Go freak out. Have a minor panic attack. I don't know.

"Yeah, sure," he smiles shyly. One hand lifts to my face, fingertips running across my cheek.

Holy smokes, if he hadn't been holding me up I would be on the floor right now.

"Will you come back?" _(Again. Afterwards. To me.)_ He doesn't say the extra words, but I hear them anyway. His palm cups my cheek, thumb running gentle strokes across my cheekbone.

I look up, caught suddenly in brilliant blue eyes under long eyelashes. For a moment, I can't move. It's like I'm in a bubble – I can't hear anything, can't see anything, just loose myself completely in those blue orbs.

Then I blink, and the spell is broken. "I will," I whisper. "I'll find you again."

First Aid lets me go reluctantly, arms dropping by increments until I'm free, but still standing up against his chest. That step away from him is almost painful, but I need some space, and I need it now. The music hits me like a wall of noise, and the room seems too crowded. I make a beeline for the bathrooms in the back of the room.

Up on the stage, Chromia is facing off against Prowl, and everyone's looking that way. It makes it fairly easy to skirt the back of the crowd without getting interrupted.

Past the bathrooms, there's a back door that opens up to a little used track. We used it earlier to get Wheeljack's contraptions into the room without anyone else noticing. I make for the door, pushing through it hurriedly, and escape out onto the sand.

The air, warm but still cooler than inside, does wonders for my breathing. I pace for a while until my pulse is almost back to normal.

Holy crap.

Now what do I do?

Staying away didn't work. Not that I managed in the first place – the island is only ten square miles of dry land, there's limited space to avoid anybody. Even if I had been willing to put that much work into it.

Okay. Calm down, Isobel. Hyperventilating isn't going to help.

Unless I faint, and First Aid has to take me to the med bay and keep watch on me all night, because he'll do that, and then he'll –

I stomp on that line of thought hard enough to shut it down completely. That. Is not. Helpful.

I am in way over my head here. He's an alien, for Pete's sake.

I stop pacing, realize I've moved up to the small height from where I can see the base. Didn't really mean to walk this far from the party, but here I am.

I can't make head or tails of my thoughts or my feelings tonight, everything's one big intertwined snarl of chaos. On the one hand, I want to run back to First Aid, crash into him and have him spin me around and around and carry me away into the sunset.

Ha. Hopelessly childish romantic idea.

On the other hand, I want to run away. As far away from this craziness as possible, back to a life where there are no such things as giant metal aliens and extra-high security clearance and holoforms and living pictures of a dead planet.

Yeah. Like I could run that far. Like I could ever forget.

Deep breaths, Isobel. That's it.

I square my shoulders. I'm going to go back to the party, and tell First Aid that I'm tired and am going back to my apartment. And then I'll go back to avoiding him until I've figured this out. And if I never figure it out, I'm going to put in for a transfer to another base. An all-human base.

Yeah right. Stop kidding yourself, Isobel. You'll never transfer away from this.

Mind made up, at least as much as possible tonight, I turn and walk back down the hill.

* * *

The party hits me like a punch to the face when I walk back inside. The stage is full of dancers now. I spot Jazz doing some sort of hip-hop routine, and Blaster and Arcee – both taking up way too much space with those wings – doing something that I'm pretty sure is illegal in public in several of the fifty states. I move at the edges of the crowds again, looking for that blond hair and the brown robes. In the strobing lights, it's hard to discern anyone for sure – it's even hard to tell where one person stops and the next one begins. Especially in cases like Ironhide and Chromia, or Wheeljack and… Bumblebee?

I'm not going there. Nope, didn't see that. I know nothing.

I do see Optimus and Ratchet standing near the wall, talking, Optimus wearing that small smile and looking at Ratchet while one hand gently plays with the medic's fingers. That makes me grin. There's hope for those two yet.

I'm so busy looking for First Aid and trying not to see anything else, that I don't notice Sideswipe until I crash into him.

For a moment, we just stare at each other with surprise. Then he mumbles an apology, turns and walks the other way.

Well, blast it. I might as well fix this, it'll be exhausting enough avoiding one mech. Besides, I'm not angry with them, not anymore.

"Hi, Sideswipe."

He slows, turns against me questioningly.

I give him a slight smile. "Hi, Sideswipe. You look good."

At that, he grins so widely it almost makes me wonder if he's tweaked the holoform's coding somehow.

"Hey, Isobel!" A careful step back towards me. "Thanks! You look awesome, that's a very good look for you, especially the hair. Um. Sorry, I didn't mean to – um. I'm. That's." A deep breath, and then a more normal Sideswipe-grin. "Great party!"

"It is, isn't it?" I look around at everyone. "I think Bumblebee's after-war career should be as an event planner."

Sideswipe chuckles at that. "I don't know, I think he needs someone to keep him in line or he'll go completely overboard with everything. Especially if he's working with Wheeljack. That combination is downright dangerous."

"Like now?" I raise my eyebrows, tilt my head in the direction of the Joker now sitting in the witch hunter's lap, mouths pretty much glued together.

"Ah. Well. They're good friends, the road to fragbuddy isn't that long." Sideswipe runs a hand across his head and gives me a sheepish look. "Listen, Isobel, we really are very sorry. We didn't think. And we certainly didn't mean to scare you or hurt you in any way." He takes a deep, unnecessary breath – holoforms don't need oxygen, after all – and looks up at me under dark eyebrows. "Can you forgive us?"

I sigh. "I forgive you, Sideswipe." I hold up a warning hand against the wide grin that threatens to split his face in half. "But you're going to have to work to earn my trust back."

"I understand." That look. "Thank you, Isobel."

"It's okay. Now, where's your brother? I'd like to talk to him too."

"Really?" And here I thought that grin couldn't get any wider. "Oh, that would be brilliant! He's been beating himself up over this, and he really wanted to show you his costume." Another sheepish smile. "That was actually what we wanted to talk to you about on Monday."

"Huh." I grin at that. "In retrospect, maybe you should have just come out and asked me."

He nods, smiling. "Yeah. In retrospect, we definitely should." He turns away from me, leading the way. "Come on. Sunny's over there."

This feels familiar. It's not the first time I've followed Sideswipe through a party to find Sunstreaker lounging up against a wall, eyeing everyone with slight disdain. Except this time, he seems to be mostly focused on the floor.

I remember thinking he was insanely gorgeous last time. This time… There really are no words.

Sunstreaker's a fallen angel.

Black, feathered wings arch from behind his shoulders, throwing most of his face into shadow. He's changed his hair-color from dark to a pale gold, reminiscent of his bipedal color, and it's long enough to hang into his eyes, curling around his ears and at his neck. Black trousers ride low on his hips, showing off every perfectly sculpted abdominal and pectoral muscle to perfection. Because, apparently, angels don't wear shirts. Or shoes.

I manage not to gape like an idiot. But it's a close thing.

"Sunstreaker, you're exquisite," I murmur, stepping closer. "You're absolutely beautiful."

He looks up at me in surprise. "Isobel?"

"Hey, Sunstreaker," I whisper, walking up to him. "Are you okay?"

He stares at me, wild-eyed. "Isobel, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have touched you. If I could undo it, I would, I swear."

"Shh," I murmur. "It's okay. You're forgiven."

"We'll earn your trust back, Isobel," Sideswipe says from behind me. "You just watch us." He walks past me, takes Sunstreaker's hand. "We'll earn it."

Sunstreaker looks from me to his twin and back to me. "Yeah, we will. I want the chance to do that." He straightens up and stands away from the wall, letting one hand move up to cradle Sideswipe's neck. Sideswipe purrs happily, leaning into the touch.

"You'll get it," I promise. Then I grin at them. "Damn, I wish I had a camera, you guys look awesome."

"He's breathtaking, isn't he," Sideswipe smirks, letting his lips graze Sunstreaker's cheek.

"He's a masterpiece," I agree. "That's not a costume, Sunstreaker, that's a work of art."

That comment is rewarded with the very first true smile I've seen on the golden twin's face. I guess there's hope for us yet.

"We'll talk more another time," I promise. "I have someone I have to go find."

"Sure," Sunstreaker murmurs, smirking at me, smooth lips already chasing Sideswipe's mouth.

The pirate twin dodges the oncoming kiss to grin at me. "Thanks, Isobel."

I grin as Sideswipe surrenders to his gorgeous twin brother, letting that insistent mouth claim his own and lifting both hands to caress soft hair and smooth wings. "Bye, guys."

I'm very satisfied with myself as I walk away. I did that right, at least. Sneaking a glance back at the twins, I'm rewarded with the surreal and incredibly hot sight of a fallen angel pretty much ravaging the pirate. There's laughter and cat-calls of 'get a room', and Sideswipe lifts one hand off of a silky black wing and flicks a middle finger to the room at large, without letting go of his brother's mouth.

They're so sexy together it should almost be outlawed. Or at least come with a fairly strong warning. Parental guidance advised.

"Thank goodness, I thought they were never going to get going again," a voice says next to me. I turn to see Bluestreak smirking at the twins. "Sunstreaker's been so broody all week, he hasn't let Sideswipe near him. I know Sides was getting desperate, they usually don't let it go more than a couple of days apart, it's apparently almost painful. I can't really understand it, I mean, no one can, really, the only other pair of twins we have here is Skids and Mudflap and they're not the same at all." He turns that smile to me. "I don't know what you did, but thanks."

I shrug, raising an eyebrow. "I told Sunstreaker he looked like a work of art."

Bluestreak laughs loudly at that. "I guess that'll do it. He really does look amazing, doesn't he? He spent hours and hours poring over earth images of angels, trying to get it just right. I think I've looked at a thousand pictures and sketches that he did, several paintings too. And he's tried out five actual holoform designs that I know of, including one with red wings, if you'd believe that. Apparently he found it in a graphic novel."

"Sunstreaker paints?" I turn an incredulous look on Bluestreak.

"Yeah, didn't you know? I guess you didn't, he probably didn't tell you, did he? He doesn't show his pictures to many people, but he's really skilled. He made a living from it, back on Cybertron. I've seen some of his work from back then, it's amazing. Maybe he'll show you if you want, he seems to like you."

I grin as the idea hits me. I have to talk to Optimus – or maybe ally myself with Sideswipe – and get some art supplies for my office.

"You're fairly close to them, aren't you, Bluestreak?"

He nods easily. "They're good friends of mine. Sunny'll come off as an arrogant bastard, and Sideswipe never seems to take anything seriously, but they're good mechs at heart. When you constantly have each other's backs in battle, it's very easy to become friends."

I smile at that. "One of those things you can't share without ending up liking each other."

"Yeah, sounds about right. Is that a quote? It sounds like a quote."

"It's a quote," I confirm, smiling. "Listen, Bluestreak, I promised I would find First Aid, have you seen him?"

"Last I saw him, he was talking to the other twins over by the front windows," he replies, turning and pointing. "Want me to show you?"

"Nah, that's okay, I'll find him. Thanks, Bluestreak." I look over his costume again. "You really do look awesome. I hope someone's taking pictures of this."

"Oh, Rewind's been filming all night," he grins. "I'll bet he'll give you a copy."

"Sounds great. See you around, Bluestreak." I reach out and give his shoulder a squeeze before moving into the crowd. Bluestreak's a good mech, too.

I find the Jedi where Link indicated, talking to Deadpool and Spiderman over by the gooey gloopy windows.

"Oh good, it's the expert!" Spiderman exclaims as I walk up to them. "We have a question for ya, doc. My glitch bro here says that Deadpool could take Spidey down one-handed, but I say that Spidey wouldn' let 'Pool get that close. What do you say?"

First Aid shoots me a slightly exasperated smile.

I look from one masked mech to the other. "One on one? No backup?"

"Backup is for wussies," Deadpool brags.

"I'll remember you said that the next time Jazz has to send Mirage and Bumblebee to pull your ungrateful afts out of the fire," First Aid murmurs, a sly smile on his handsome face. "It'll give you a chance to prove yourselves."

Spiderman twists and stares at him. I giggle at that – these twins are just so young. Or, I think they are – I've never actually talked to them before now, never seen their faces before, and the masks they're wearing aren't giving away much.

"If it's one on one, I'd say Deadpool wins," I muse. "They're both very agile, very athletic, but the merc has two swords and almost unlimited regeneration. Spiderman's got webbing and a fancy extra sense. Plus, Deadpool's bat-shit crazy and just plain old refuses to die. That'll win it every time."

Spider-Skids snorts. "Hear that, bro? Ya crazy as Starscream."

I frown slightly at that. I hadn't thought about it, but the comparison is quite apt. And I'm not sure I like what it says about this war of theirs. Looking up and meeting First Aid's eyes, I realize that the implications aren't lost on him either.

Then again, I don't know – the Autobots aren't that easy to kill either. Hopefully, the comparison won't stretch that far.

Mud-Pool smacks his brother in the back of the head. "Hey, I'm way more stable than that glitch. He's got scrap for a processor."

"High altitude fried his connectors," Skids sniggers.

First Aid just shakes his head at them.

I grin, and interrupt the youthful bragging. "Hey, I believe I owe you two thanks for the flowers that suddenly appeared on my doorstep."

Both twins instantly radiate smugness, and then turn into mirror images of abashed embarrassment, complete with lowered heads, twitching hands and awkward stances. This is hilarious.

"Sorry we put ya in the med bay, Isobel," Skids mumbles.

"Yeah, we didn't think," Mudflap adds. "Dat was a really dumb prank."

"It's okay, guys, you're forgiven," I grin at them. "On one condition."

Twin heads turn back to focus on me. "What?"

"Loose the masks for a moment." I raise an eyebrow at them. "I don't even know what you guys look like. We haven't actually officially met."

Pale mask-eyes look at each other, and then the blue sparks fade away to reveal identical, wild grins. Dark brown hair stands in all directions, and a sprinkling of freckles adorn two pale faces. They're as young as I imagined – not young-seeming, like Bumblebee, but actually young, teenagers. And they're absolutely identical, more even than Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. I can't tell them apart at all.

"Hey, Isobel," Skids grins, reaching out a hand to shake mine. "Nice t' meetcha."

"Hi, Isobel," Mudflap echoes his brother. "I'm Mudflap."

I shake one hand after the other. "Nice to meet you too, guys. Great costumes."

"You too, you look kick-ass," Mudflap replies. Skids nods. "Totally dope."

I laugh at that. "Never been called that before. Thanks."

"Okay, you got to ask her, now go," First Aid says, smiling at them. "Eject was waiting for you, remember?"

"Slag it, that's true!" Mudflap exclaims, taking off. "Bye, Isobel!"

"Hey, ya mask!" Skids calls, running after him. "Put ya mask back on, slagger! Bye, Iz!"

_Iz_. I shudder.

First Aid notices, of course. He notices everything. "Something wrong?"

"Nah, it's okay. But if Skids starts spreading that name around, he'll be unforgiven real quick."

That earns me a laugh, and I have to consciously school my legs to stay rooted to the spot.

When First Aid laughs, he gets dimples in his cheeks.

Those blue eyes fasten on me, accompanied by that shy grin. "Isobel - d'you want to dance? With me?"

Hell, yes. More than anything.

And there's no way in the world I'm going to.

"I would love to, Aid, but I'm actually dead on my feet." I make a face. "It's been a long bitch of a week."

First Aid is all sympathy at that, reaching out and placing a hand on my arm. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

Another very tempting offer. I'm on the verge of refusing – but then I notice Mirage looking at me from near the stage. Smirking at me, rather, and I know that look. That's the I'm-coming-by-your-bed-later look.

He looks hot as hell in that outfit – Mirage is always sexy – but for once it's easy to ignore. I need to sleep, and and I need to get some distance. If I leave the party alone, Mirage will see it as an invitation. And as great as the sex is, as easily uncomplicated and comfortable as that relation is, I really don't want to see his face anymore tonight. Masked or not.

That leaves me with just the one option.

"That would be good," I sigh, smiling slightly at First Aid. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he grins at me. "It's my pleasure."

Yeah, mine too. That's what worries me.

When First Aid takes my hand, I don't stop him.

The air outside is even cooler than it was – not the crisp and cool I would expect of late October, but as close as we can get on Diego Garcia. First Aid's thumb rubs little circles on the back of my hand as we walk.

"So why a Jedi?" I ask idly.

"Heh." He smiles, looks down shyly. "I like the philosophy, I guess. The humility, the mindfulness, the refusal to dwell on hate and anger."

"The saving and defending the innocent," I point out, and he grins at me, squeezing my hand slightly.

"Yeah, that too." He chuckles. "What about you? Why Black Widow?"

"Honestly? She could be set up with the resources I have here."

He laughs at that. "That's the only reason?"

I shake my head. "She's incredibly cool. You can't keep her down, she doesn't take crap from anybody, she's never weak, and she's very intelligent. She's savvy. I like her." I shrug. "I'll be glad to get out of this outfit again, though. These guns are _heavy_."

First Aid laughs again, pulling me close and nuzzling my hair. "I'm glad. They don't really suit you."

"I guess they don't, at that," I reply as his arm settles around my waist. I take out one of the guns and fiddle with it – mostly to have something to do with my hands that doesn't involve clinging to First Aid. "Hey Aid, why didn't you want to duel in the epic showdown?"

He watches the gun in my hands. "I'm not a fighter at heart. Some of us see fighting, or sparring, as a good way to burn off excess energy, something that has worth in its own right. I don't. I'll fight if I need to, to protect those I care about –" an extra tightening of his arm around my waist there, and I'm trying very hard to not think about the implications of that at all "- but I don't see it as entertaining. So I opted out."

"It's an interesting attitude for someone who's been fighting a war for millennia," I observe. "I'm impressed you've managed to keep it."

He grins at that. "Thank you. It helps that Groove's even worse than me. He won't even kill a 'Con if he can avoid it. He'll fight, sure, and when we combine and form Defensor he pulls his weight along with the rest of us, but he's a pacifist at heart. His weapons aren't even deadly."

I stare at him. "When you do what, did you say?"

"Oh." He looks down, blushes slightly. "I guess I haven't told you about that. You see, me and my brothers, we're a gestalt team. We can combine our forms into one giant form, called Defensor."

I'm still staring. "I don't understand."

He sighs, run a hand through his hair. "It's hard to explain. I don't want to freak you out."

I snort at that. "Freak me out? Please. First Aid, how much weirdness and alien shenanigans have you guys thrown at me in the last three weeks? Have I freaked yet? Come on, I even took it in stride that Sideswipe's fragging his brother, which, you know, pretty big stigma on Earth."

"I guess." He grins, and his hand slides down again to take mine. A big part of me wishes he would have left his arm around my waist, where it was, maybe put his other arm around me as well… I derail that train of thought. "The only thing I've seen really upset you was those pictures."

"Yeah, but that wasn't aliens, that was war," I sigh. "Of course I was upset by those. Especially in that setting."

"Yeah, it was fun up until that point." His lips curve in a soft smile. "So you're okay with me explaining this?"

Now it's my turn to squeeze his hand. "I won't freak out, I promise." I smile up at him and start walking again. "Tell me about this thing with your brothers. You said you combine? What does that mean?"

First Aid frowns thoughtfully, thumb idly tracing my fingers. "I'm not sure how to explain it. The simplified version is that the five of us trigger a special transformation, and become one big entity known as a combiner. His name's Defensor. I'm his left arm."

That has me giggling. On the list of surreal sentences I never thought I'd hear, that one is right near the top. "Left arm, huh? He must be big."

"Huge," First Aid confirms, smiling slightly at me. "Anyway, we combine into him when it's needed. It hasn't been that often, lately, which is why my brothers are all in Europe while I'm here."

"Do you miss them?"

The arm sneaks back around my waist. It fits perfectly there. "All the time. But we talk often, and I can feel them through the bond, so it's okay."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You lost me again."

He chuckles and pulls me close, leaning his head against mine. Oh my God. "I'm sorry, Isobel. It's so easy to forget that you don't know this." A gentle hand squeezes my waist, thumb rubbing softly against me. "My brothers and I share a bond, that's what being a gestalt means. It lets us feel how the others feel, where they are, lets us communicate. They're too far away for me to know much more than that they are alive and well right now, but any closer and we'd have no problem."

"Huh. That sounds…" I lean back into the touch, sighing. "That sounds nice, actually. It must be good to be that close to your brothers."

"It is." Warm breath on my cheek. "What about your family?"

I shrug. "Not much left of it. My mother died when I was young, and my father raised us alone. Then he died of a brain aneurysm when I was a student. I lost my brother a few years after that. I have an aunt in Washington, but I've barely met her."

He pulls back, stares at me. "You don't have any close surviving family?"

"Well, no." I look sideways at him. "You don't have to look so appalled, you know. It's not _my_ fault."

"What? No, of course not! Primus, I'm sorry, Isobel." Suddenly he pulls me close, arms around me, face pressed to my hair. My arms go around his waist – of course I didn't actually make a conscious decision to place them there, no, really I didn't. "I didn't mean to get so surprised. It's just hard for me to imagine having no family. I've always had four brothers in my head, for good and bad."

"It's okay." I grin against his shoulder. He smells _good_. "I didn't actually think you meant it like that. And I've done my grieving. I still miss them, but they're gone, and I've accepted that.

"Still, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that."

"Don't worry about it. I've forgiven far worse than you today." I push away slightly, and shoot him a smile. "It's okay."

He hesitates, then nods at me. "If you say so." He steps back, pulls me along. "Let's get you home."

It's not that much further, and before I'm quite ready to let First Aid go we're standing outside my front door.

"We're here," First Aid says, unnecessarily.

"So we are," I agree.

Then we're both silent, in that kind of awkward silence that usually follows first dates. Not that this was one.

"So what are you doing tomorrow?" Blue eyes flash at me under long eyelashes.

"As little as possible," I grin. "I have a meeting with Jazz and a few of the others, and then there's party clean-up duty, but after that I plan to spend the rest of my day on my couch or something."

"Want company?" A hopeful smile, and those dimples, oh my God...

"I don't know yet," I hedge. I don't have the heart to tell him no outright, especially not tonight. "Let you know?"

"Absolutely." He grins, then leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. "G'night, Isobel."

Holy crap.

I only stare. First Aid smiles somewhat smugly at me and then vanishes, the blue sparks enveloping me before they fade away.


	12. Bothered and bewildered

_You'd think after having a night to myself for the first time in over a week I would be more rested and know what to do. But I don't. I haven't the foggiest idea, actually._

_This game I'm playing with Mirage – or, more precisely, that he's playing with me - is one thing. He's not interested in anything beyond the purely physical, he doesn't even talk to me in public. And yeah, if I stop and think too much about the fact that I'm sleeping with an alien, I'll probably freak out. So I don't do that. Think, I mean._

_Crap, I'm even less eloquent than usual. This isn't healthy._

_Because no matter how I twist it and turn it, they are_ _ aliens _ _. Tall, metal creatures that turn into cars. Or planes. Or, I don't know - I think Blaster's alt mode is a CD player or something, actually, strange as that is. My point is, the only reason that any kind of personal interaction with humans is physically possible is because their technology is so far ahead of ours it's not even funny._

_There's no equality here. We're just acting like it is._

_Yeah, sure, we can be friends. We can be allies. We can have mutually beneficial associations. But real relationships? Real, honest-to-God romance?_

_How the hell would that even work?_

_I haven't even managed to make a normal relationship work yet._

_And on the note of dysfunctional relationships… I'd better get to that meeting._

* * *

I thought it was going to be a small affair, just me and the twins and Jazz. Apparently, I was wrong. Prowl is there too, which isn't that surprising when I think on it, but then someone's gone and involved Prime. And Ratchet. And a nervous-looking frowning individual I've never seen before, a slightly unfinished-looking holoform with dark hair and a scarily focused gaze, who Prowl introduces as Red Alert. Apparently he's responsible for base security, along with Lennox.

He doesn't look very secure to me. If he was in my office, I'd settle him for a long-term treatment plan. Twice a week, possibly drug-assisted, maybe hypno-therapy. And even then, we're talking years.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are standing at attention at the end of the table opposite Prime, whilst I've been seated a few spots down. Jazz is sitting next to me, Prowl opposite us, Ratchet standing behind Prime and Red Alert sitting next to the twins. All in holoform – probably because of me.

I have no idea what's going on.

"So," Optimus says at last. The twins straighten slightly. "Prowl's briefed me on this. I have to say…" He turns to me, a slight smile curving his holoform's lips. "Well handled, Isobel." Ratchet smirks.

Huh. Okay. Not how I thought this would go. I look from one pair of blue eyes to the next in confusion. "Um. Thanks?"

Jazz chuckles next to me. "Relax, sweetspark. This turned inta a smaller deal than we feared, so we wanted t'take th'chance to talk to ya 'bout somethin' else too."

"That's correct," Optimus says. "But let's get the unpleasantness out of the way first. Isobel, do you want to press charges against or ask for disciplinary action for these two miscreants?"

Sideswipe shoots me a nervous grin. Sunstreaker just stares straight ahead.

"No," I shake my head. "I believe it was an honest mistake. A big one, granted, but they meant no harm. And they've learned, I think."

"Good," Prime says with a small smile. "Then it's only the matter of punishment for disorderly conduct, and the matter of their treatment courses with you. Prowl?"

"Since you've been pulling double shifts for a week already, we'll consider the punishment done," the second-in-command says, frowning at the twins. "But be warned that this will be put on your record, and future transgressions of the same kind will be punished severely."

The twins just nod at that, but Sideswipe seems relieved.

"Treatment-wise…" Prowl turns, looks at Ratchet.

"Treatment-wise, you're not to be alone in a room with her until she says it's okay," Ratchet says gruffly. "That condition stands. Free time, you leave her alone if she tells you to. Now, psychological treatment, as far as I understand, is a private matter that doesn't work well with a passive audience. Am I right, Isobel?"

I have a sudden vision of myself trying to get anything out of Sunstreaker while Ironhide's lounging in the other couch. It would take the rest of the year just to get Sunstreaker to say 'hello'. "You're right, privacy is essential."

"So your treatment plans will only be continued if Isobel wears this." Ratchet tosses me a small gadget on a string. "It's a panic button."

"A _what_?" Sunstreaker says. His eyebrows lift high enough to vanish under his hair – dark again today, and shorter, though the fringe is still long.

"A panic button," Red Alert says. His voice is a brittle tenor. "I tried to get them to let me install cameras in there, but that suggestion was shot down." He frowns at Prowl.

Thank God for that – no one can relax when there are cameras watching. I look at the little thingy. It's a tiny turquoise box with a button on one side, meant to be worn as a bracelet.

"There will be a guard outside her office whenever one of you are in there," Ratchet continues. "One press of the button, and the guard will come in to either restrain you or force you to dissolve your holoform."

"Is that acceptable, Isobel?" Prowl asks.

I just nod. I can work with this.

"Is that understood, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe?"

"Yessir," Sideswipe says. Sunstreaker just nods.

"Good," Optimus says, smiling. "Then let's get on with other matters. Isobel, we have a question for you."

I pocket my new turquoise accessory and nod at him. "Go ahead."

"Have you had any experience working with prisoners of war?" Red Alert looks at me. "Enemy soldiers?"

I sit back, frown. Not what I expected out of this morning. "No, I haven't. Not while they're being held. Given my specialty, I suppose they would need it – but most soldiers aren't that keen on opening up about their own emotional stress and trauma whilst being in a situation that causes emotional stress and trauma. And since I can't help without my patients willingly sharing… I have worked with soldiers who have been prisoners of war, yes, but after the fact, not during."

Prowl frowns, but he nods. "That is logical, when you lay it out like that. So you have never partaken in interrogation of captives?"

"What are you getting at here, Prowl?" Sideswipe asks sharply. "It sounds like you're thinking that it would be a good idea to put Isobel in a cell with the next Decepticon who visits us involuntarily."

"Yes, I am thinking that," the second-in-command replies calmly. "She could be an asset."

"You're kidding." Sunstreaker's staring incredulously at the commanders, piercing blue eyes somehow taking in all of them. "You're going to drag a human into an interrogation setting? _That_ human?"

"We already have human allies in this war, Sideswipe," Optimus says, frowning. "I believe Isobel could be of help here, and the Decepticons would benefit from that too."

"I believe the Matrix has gotten too big for your frame and is blocking the signals from your sensors to your common sense," Sideswipe growls. "She's a civilian human! An organic, a squishy! You know that's what the 'Cons will see! Since when do we use the humans to fight our wars for us?"

"Since we crashed here!" Prowl's voice is knife sharp. "We use the tools we have, what resources we have, what forces and troops we have available to us!"

"Sideswipe, you know I've never been comfortable asking the humans to fight for us," Optimus sighs. "But Prowl is right, unfortunately. We cannot win this without them."

"She. Is. A civilian," Sideswipe snarls. "A weak, tiny, human civilian. Are you really saying that you're okay with putting her in a cell in front of Ravage? Of Vortex? Pit, of _Starscream_? She's not equipped to handle them, they'd eat her up! She said it herself, it has to be voluntary or she's no good. You know they won't share anything, they probably won't even speak English. She'll be useless in that situation! And the 'Cons won't stop at that, you know they'll break her if they get the chance, and then she'll be no use at all to any of us!" He dumps down in a chair, fuming. "I can't believe you're even considering this. She's just a human!"

Okay. Much as I appreciate what he's trying to do here, I could do with a slightly less derogatory defense. Still, I guess it's good to know he's on my side.

"You'd be pulling her into our war," Sunstreaker says flatly. "As it is, she's here to help the human soldiers, and we're just taking advantage of her being here to get something out of it ourselves. Putting her in an interrogation room makes it her war, too, and you know she's not cut out for that. You wouldn't do that to one of our own civilians, even if they had the relevant skill set."

"She wouldn't be conducting the interrogation," Prowl protests. "Just observing."

"I have to agree with'em, Prowler," Jazz says, frowning. "I was on board with this at first, but they's right – she won' do no good if the 'Cons don' treat her right. An' she's fairly breakable."

"If you all are done talking about me as if I wasn't even here," I say pointedly. Ratchet snorts and smirks at me again. "I don't have the skill set necessary for that job. I don't really want to do that job, to be honest. And the twins are right - I'm not an Autobot, I'm a human. I support you in this war of yours, but I won't be put on the front lines like that. I'd be perfectly happy to never meet a Decepticon face to face. So, no. No, I will not be used in interrogations. I don't have the training for it, I don't have the coping techniques for it, and I don't have the will for it." I look at Prowl. "I'm here to help, not to fight."

"Well, we can respect that," Optimus says, sighing. "I'm sorry if we offended you, Isobel."

I wave that away. "Don't worry about it." It's a lie - I'm more than a little peeved. In fact, I have the sudden urge to throw every Autobot on the island out the window and let them fend for themselves, alliances be damned. "Are we done, then?"

Optimus nods. "Yes, we are. Thank you for your time."

I just nod back and leave.

* * *

Walking – stalking, almost - up to the conference room, I'm not even sure why I'm so annoyed. I still feel like biting the head off any Autobot that talks to me, for some reason, and it makes no sense. They asked me nicely, and the question in and of itself was not that far-fetched, really. The twins even defended me. So I don't get why I'm reacting like this.

I guess it's good I'm going to do some heavy-duty cleaning. I have a lot of frustration to work off.

But when I get to my destination, there are already more 'bots there than I had planned on seeing today. Bluestreak and Rewind are picking mechanical crawlers off the wall, Bumblebee's standing in full bipedal mode and plucking the fake spiderwebs and the banners down, and Wheeljack and Arcee are standing over by the windows.

I swallow down my annoyance and sigh. These 'bots haven't earned it.

"I hear you, 'Jack, but that's not what it's doing, is it?" Arcee argues.

"No, it isn't, and I don't understand!" Wheeljack's dark-haired, slightly ruffled holoform is looking at the glass pane curiously. "It's supposed to remove the gloop, not the glass!"

Okay, what? I walk over, curious. This I have to see.

"Oh, hey, Isobel!" Arcee chirps brightly. "Thought we'd help out! And a good thing too, or Jackie would have dissolved every window pane in this building."

"I would not," Wheeljack argues. "I would have noticed it at some point."

"Yes, when it started blowing up instead," Arcee snarks.

"Noticed what?" I raise an eyebrow at them.

Arcee just points.

I look closer, and grin. Wheeljack's apparently been using some form of solvent to get rid of the gloop, judging from the bucket and sponge in his hand – but the solvent seems to have eaten through more than just the gloop, and the three windows that are gloop-free are also pane-free. There's no glass left.

"That's an interesting chemical, Wheeljack," I muse, staring at the lack of glassware. "Remind me never to use anything you've concocted on my bare skin."

"Ah, yes," he says, flustered. "Yes, that would be – inadvisable."

Arcee cracks up.

I walk over to the fourth window. The gloop seems to have hardened into some form of shell-like substance – it's hard, but brittle. "I think you'd be better off chipping it off with a spatula or something."

"Wheeljack tried beating it off," Arcee giggles. She's bent almost double. "That's how the first window got broken."

"Well, you have super-freaky holoform strength," I say absently, prodding the shell. "I'm just a puny human. Do you have a spatula?"

Trust Wheeljack to always have tools tucked somewhere on his body. The spatula comes out of his back pocket and is flipped elegantly through the air until I catch it.

"Here," the inventor grins. "Have fun."

I smile back, pushing the tool against the gloop. The pink-orange brittle breaks off with crumbling cracks.

"Good, it works," Arcee nods. "We can save the remaining windows. Hey, Isobel, did you get…"

I look around as her sentence tapers off. "Get what? Arcee?"

All the Autobots are standing still, gazing into the distance, focused on something I can't see.

It's freaky.

Wheeljack's the first to recover. "Sorry, Isobel," he apologizes. "Prime wants all of us – all of the Autobots – for a meeting. War-related. D'you think you'll be okay continuing this by yourself?"

I nod, shoo them off. "Sure, go. Save the world. Bring Energon."

Arcee grins, winking at me. "I'll tell First Aid you said hi."

Great, that's all I need. Autobot match makers. I shake my head and sigh as they all file out the door, calling their goodbyes while I just wave at them.

Alone at last, I look over the windows. Four more windows, each with four panes, each covered with gloop, and then there's the rest of the room. Oh joy.

I push my sleeves up and get to it.

* * *

_I didn't get that long day in the couch that I wanted, it took ages to get that gloop off the windows. And none of the Autobots came back – their meeting seems to have stretched out. At least I got an evening that's somewhat normal for me. Hooray for at least five hours in front of the TV playing Legend of Zelda! I'd almost forgotten what that feels like. And it put my brain to rest, let me try to figure this out._

_I've decided that I'm going to relax and try to keep First Aid at arm's length._

_Haha. Yeah right. Like I have the willpower for that._

_I've decided that I'm going to take one day at the time, and see what's going to happen._

_Not comfortable with that either._

_Gah. I've decided that after work tomorrow, I'm going straight back home to play more Legend of Zelda until I go to bed._

_Yeah. That one works._

* * *

Thank God I have coffee at my office. A night with that little sleep is messing with my head.

When I turn around after locking my door, First Aid's standing there looking at me.

"Good morning, Isobel," he says, smiling shyly. "I wondered if – that is – um. Can I walk you to work?"

I can't say no to that. I just can't.

"Sure," I shoot him a small smile. "Not headed to med bay yet?"

"I'm going there afterwards," he replies, falling into step next to me. "Prime's sending a scouting party to California tonight, and the rest of us are going out tomorrow morning. So I'm helping Ratchet packing up medical supplies the rest of the day. And I wanted to see you before we leave." A shy curve of perfect lips, blue eyes flashing under those eyelashes.

First Aid's gorgeous. It's hard to look away from him.

But then his words actually sink in. "Wait. You're all leaving?"

He nods and takes my hand. It's familiar and terrifying at the same time. "Yes, some tonight and some tomorrow. Don't worry, there'll still be military personnel here, so you won't be alone. But Prime is expecting trouble, he doesn't want to leave any Autobots behind."

"Oh. Okay." Suddenly the hand in mine is welcome and comforting. "Dangerous, then."

"Yes," First Aid says, squeezing my hand. "The Decepticons are dangerous, no matter how much we'll brag that we can trounce them easily. But don't worry for us, okay? We've managed so far."

"Yeah," I agree. "So far."

Something must have come through in my voice, because First Aid stops and pulls me close. "Don't worry," he repeats, murmuring in my ear. "You're safe, and we'll be fine."

I put my arms around his waist and lean my head against the base of his throat, revelling in the contact. I remember this idea that I should keep my distance and establish firm boundaries, but for the life of me I can't remember why. Standing with First Aid like this feels just right.

"Don't be afraid, Isobel," he purrs, squeezing me tight. "We'll come back. I'll come back."

"You'd better," I mumble. "How long until you're back?"

"About two weeks, Optimus says," he replies, nuzzling against my neck. "It might be longer. We'll have to see after the scouts report back. But it will be at least that long – Diego Garcia's too far away for a strategic retreat if that becomes necessary. So we're relocating temporarily to a base in California. That's why we're all going – we need the non-fighters like Red Alert, Inferno and Blaster to secure the base for us."

"Are you and Ratchet fighting the 'Cons too?"

"Yes. We've both started out as field medics. We've done this before."

"Oh." I don't like that, I suddenly realize. I don't want First Aid on the front lines. Or anywhere near an enemy.

My hands take double handfuls of the back of his shirt. First Aid's hands move on my back – one hand rubbing up and down my spine, the other lifting up to cup the back of my head, stroking my hair gently.

His lips press against my neck, and I can't find it in me to fight it or even worry about it. I just burrow closer.

At this point, it doesn't feel like I can get close enough.

After a few minutes, he chuckles ruefully and disentangles from me. "Much as I'd love to stand here with you all day, we both have other places to be."

I sigh. I guess he's right about that.

His arm stays around my waist though, and he holds me close as we walk together up the path. I leave my arm around him, too. It's impossible not to.

We don't speak on the way up to my office. As we stop outside the building, I turn to First Aid and look into his eyes.

"Will you stay safe?"

He smiles gently, lifting a hand to cup my cheek. "I'll do my best."

The hand on my back pulls me closer until I'm flush against his chest again, and in an undeniable impulse, I throw my arms around his neck, face pressed against his shoulder.

"You stay safe, you keep them safe, and you come back," I say fiercely, speaking into the soft fabric of his shirt. "Those are the rules."

He chuckles. "I can live with that."

I squeeze him as tight as I can possibly manage – he's a holoform, I couldn't hurt him if I tried – before I let him go, seizing the front of his shirt in my fists and frowning up at him. "You come back," I repeat intently.

First Aid cups my face in his hands and presses his forehead against mine. "I promise. I'll come back." ( _Afterwards. To you. Again_.) Warm holoform breath washes over my face.

I draw a shaking breath and close my eyes, leaning into the contact. "Good." Then I take a step back and release his shirt, letting my palms rest on his chest for a moment. "Good."

I look up at him, and his smile coaxes my own smile back out. "Bye, First Aid. See you when I see you."

"Bye, Isobel." A last careful stroke of his finger down my cheek, and I turn to enter the building.

Only to spin back on my heel, throw my arms around his neck and press my lips to his fiercely.

First Aid's surprised at first, but then his arms envelop me again and he sighs against my mouth, pulling me close.

I drown there, for a moment. First Aid's arms are strong and gentle at the same time, holding me tightly and cradling me like I'm a fragile treasure. His lips move on mine, softly, tenderly, and I'm clinging to him.

It's perfect. He's perfect.

I break the kiss, and look up at him. Those blue eyes are shining with an emotion I don't recognize – it's the same something I've seen there before.

"You come back," I murmur.

He just nods and pulls me into a hug, holding me tight. "I will."

Then I break away from him and hurry into my office without looking back.

* * *

_Damn._

_Damn it!_

_Damned pit-slagging hell-spawned fucking fragging idiotic birdbrain!_

_I can't believe I just did that._

_I cannot believe I just did that._

_Oh my God._

_My mind's spinning in circles. I can't think straight. Heck, I can't think at all._

_I kissed him._

_I went and bloody kissed First Aid._

_That's right up there on the top ten of the dumbest things I've ever done. And just because I had this sudden fear that he wouldn't come back. Dumb-aft silly stupid girl. He's been fine so far. Nothing might even happen. Of course he'll come back. They all will._

_…_ _. But if he doesn't…_

_No, stop it, Isobel. They're all coming back. They are._

_Anyway. Moving on. Deep breaths and all that stuff._

_Optimus sent a message cancelling his appointment, which is good, because it gave me some time to get my head back in the game and get Lennox to send a soldier with something that resembles art supplies. It's not much, but at least I got a wad of paper and a packet of charcoal pencils. If it works, I'll talk to Sideswipe and get him to source me some of Sunstreaker's art things. He probably has some good stuff._

_I just hope I can get my brain to start functioning again before the golden twin shows up. He's sure to notice if I'm distracted._

_I'll busy myself setting up the art supplies, and put on those pictures while I wait for him. That should be calming._

_If First Aid doesn't come back, I don't know what I'll do._

* * *

Sunstreaker is almost hesitant when he walks in. His gaze falls to the turquoise bauble on my wrist. I spot Ironhide through the doorway, sitting on a chair outside my office. He gives me a wave.

I smile wryly at Sunstreaker. Best way to put him at ease about this is to address the elephant in the room directly. "Medic's orders," I say, shaking my wrist.

"That's right," Sunstreaker replies, forcing a grin of his own. "You should obey those, you're too squishable to field the flying wrenches."

"So I've been told," I nod. "I don't really want to get in the way of those."

"They make dents," he agrees.

I get up from behind my desk. "Come on in, Sunstreaker. How was your Sunday?"

"Full of Sideswipe," he smirks. "Little glitch wouldn't leave me alone."

I sit down in one of the chairs that I've angled to face the window. The drawing paper and charcoals are placed on a table between the two chairs. "That's right, Bluestreak told me that last week was rough for you." I look at him from the corner of my eye. "I feel like I'm partly to blame for that."

"Nah." Sunstreaker sits down in the other chair. "Don't take the fall for that. That was me." Noticing the supplies on the table, he picks up the paper and chooses a charcoal pencil. "When I get disgusted with myself I tend to take it out on Sideswipe."

Whoa. That's a hell of an admission for our second session, especially considering that he didn't say anything in his session last week and then I got him punished for sexual assault.

Huh. He's had a bit of a week, hasn't he?

"That sounds like it could put a strain on your relationship," I say carefully.

The charcoal pencil pulls across the paper in a long, dark line. "Not really. Part of the twin bond thing. He can feel why I'm treating him like that – same as I can feel why he sometimes throws himself on someone else to try and make me jealous. Misunderstanding's pretty close to impossible."

"I suppose that can be both a blessing and a curse."

He snorts. The line has grown shading. "You can say that."

I watch his hand guiding the pencil for a moment. The movements are sure, confident, but it doesn't seem like he's paying that much attention to what he's actually doing. His hand's moving on autopilot. He's drawn this many times before.

"So I hear you're going to California tomorrow," I comment casually.

"Yeah, so Prime says." An almond shape appears next to the line. "Apparently the 'Cons are acting like slagheads and someone needs to go and kick their afts."

I pick up the slight amusement in his voice. "You enjoy giving them an aft-kicking?"

"It's a good stress-reliever," he grins, filling in the eye. "Besides, fighting is one of the things I'm really good at. Sides and me, we've always been fighting. And thrill-wise, there's not much that compares to jumping up in the air and taking down a Seeker singlehanded."

I realize that I've forgotten to read his file. It's annoying, because it would have given me an edge here.

And then hid words actually register in my mind.

"Jumping and taking down a Seeker singlehanded?" I repeat, staring at him. Seekers are those planes, if I remember correctly. Like Starscream, and that hunk of smooth metal Thundercracker.

He smirks, and a second almond-shape appears on the paper. "Yeah. We get up high and jump onto the back of the Seekers, and then wrestle them to the ground or shoot them or something. They can't really fight back when we're perched on their backs. Sideswipe's calling it Jet Judo."

I chuckle at that. "Sounds like Sideswipe. It also sounds fairly scary. You can't fly, can you?"

A small smile, one corner of his mouth pulling up. "No, my alt mode's a Lamborghini. Not much wing on those."

I laugh at that. "No, I guess not. Fancy supercar, huh?"

"Of course. Only the best. Sideswipe's a Porsche, he'll have you believe that that's hotter." A slight questioning look at me – Sunstreaker wants my opinion. Even more, he wants me to choose. And there's no right choice there.

I just shrug. "I've seen his alt mode, it's nice enough. To be honest, I'm not that big on cars, I can't really tell one flashy sports car from another."

Sunstreaker just stares at me.

I raise an eyebrow at that incredulous look. "What?"

He frowns at me. "Are you seriously saying that you can't differentiate between us?"

"I can see you're different if you're parked next to each other," I protest. "I'm just not drawn to any one car more than another. I can tell which cars are made to look sexy and which are made to look utilitarian, and that's about it."

"That's just weird," he comments, and shading for a nose appears on the paper. "We'll have to teach you."

I grin. "If you say so."

"Oh, definitely. We can't have you running around on an Autobot base and not being able to tell the difference between Wheeljack and Mirage."

"Oh, I can tell the difference between those two," I grin.

"Really?" He looks at me with a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Yeah, no problem," I reply smugly. "Mirage is red."

And Sunstreaker laughs. He throws his handsome head back and laughs until he's out of breath and tears are streaming down his cheeks. "Primus, Isobel," he manages when he's approaching coherency again. "That was fantastic. I needed that, thank you. _Mirage is red_. Sides will love that." He shakes his head, still chuckling.

"No problem." I grin widely. "Glad to be of service."

Faint lips appear on the paper. They seem to be smiling, Sideswipe's trademark cheeky grin. "So if you're not into cars, what do you like?"

I smirk at him. "Spaceships."

Sunstreaker just gapes at me, drawing forgotten for the moment. "No way."

"Yes way," I confirm, smiling lopsidedly.

"But humans don't have spaceships. You have sorry excuses for rockets."

"True. But we've made up a hell of a lot of them." I lean back, looking into the ceiling like I do with Optimus. "And those, I like. The Serenity, the Rocinante, the TIE fighters, the Nubian, the Quinjet, the Shi'ar jumpships, the Dark Aster, the Big Red Battleship, the Sun Crusher… I love them."

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Sunstreaker getting that faraway look the holoforms get when they're looking stuff up on the internet. Then he smirks at me. "You know, not one of those will work properly?"

I wave my hand at that. "Utterly and completely beside the point."

He snorts. "No wonder your species hasn't made it to space yet. Your sci-fi science is impossible."

"Doesn't matter." I grin. "I used to think that giant sentient metallic aliens were impossible. And then, hey presto, Cybertronians. I don't really believe in impossible anymore. I'm going to take everything in stride from now on."

"And yet, you're avoiding First Aid." He quirks an eyebrow at me.

Damn. I walked straight into that one. Sideswipe is grinning mischievously at me from the paper in his brother's lap.

Sunstreaker eyes me reservedly, blue eyes intent under dark eyebrows. "I have optics, you know. I wondered why you were dodging him at the same time as you were avoiding us. You bounced around like one of those human toys. If I hadn't been so pissed off at the situation in general it would have been hilarious."

I shrug. This is not the conversation I wanted to have with Sunstreaker. Normal conversation to establish trust, yes – but that topic? No. First Aid's not a conversation topic I want right now.

"I'm not avoiding him," I reply. Not panicking.

Okay, slightly panicking.

Sunstreaker smirks at me. "Yeah, right. Then why do you always go the other way when he shows up?"

I shake my head stubbornly. "Not avoiding anybody."

He snorts. "Fine. Have it your way, human girl." He tilts his head, listening to something I can't hear. "I have to go. Sideswipe needs me in the armory, we have some prepping to do."

"Of course, I answer automatically. "Hey, good luck on your mission. Kick some Decepticon butt. Or ailerons."

He smirks at me as he puts the drawing and pencil back down. "Oh, I aim to."

Damn it. I wait until he's gone before dropping my head into my hands. So much for putting the whole thing out of my mind.

* * *

_There's been a steady stream of Autobots at my flat today. Jazz and Bumblebee, both heading out on the scouting mission tonight. Bluestreak with Sideswipe in tow. Blaster and both cassettes. Arcee, giving me the hug of the century. I like her. Prowl came by, gave me a communicator device for emergencies. "Not that those will occur, but then we can at least let you know when we will be back."_

_The planes are leaving early tomorrow. I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight._

_Maybe it's good that all the Autobots will be away for a few weeks. A base full of humans might inject some much-needed normalcy into my life. And I could really need that._

_I barely have clients left this week, the base is down to a skeleton crew. So I'm going to play hooky, do distinctly human things like go for runs, eat junk food and candy while watching Doctor Who, and play Legend of Zelda until I pass out on the couch. That's what I'm going to do._

_And I'm not going to think of First Aid at all. Not for two weeks._

_Haha. Who am I kidding… I mean, even Sunstreaker noticed something was up._

_No, I'm not going to be able to not think of him. But maybe, since he's not here, I can try to figure out what the hell has got him so damn stuck in my mind. All that peace and quiet has to be good for something._


	13. When you're gone

I've done the obligatory post-uni continent-hopping, so I've seen big airplanes before. But this tops the bill.

Apparently, to transport Autobots, you need freaking monstrous cargo planes. I'm fairly certain Optimus could fit in there in bipedal mode without having to duck down at all.

From my perch on the hilltop, I can see the four giant planes waiting in line on the tarmac, and the Autobots crowding around them. Soldiers, small and unassuming, are swarming both planes and 'Bots as supplies and crates are loaded.

I keep count of the 'Bots I recognize as they board the planes, each alt mode in company of a group of soldiers. Optimus Prime. Ironhide. Ratchet. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, entering next to each other, Sunstreaker glossy enough that he reflects even the faint pre-dawn light. Wheeljack. Arcee and Chromia, both cycles, driving up the same ramp. Bluestreak. Jazz and Prowl, moving together at first but then entering separate planes. Two mirror images half-racing each other up a ramp, and I realize I'm finally looking at the real Skids and Mudflap.

First Aid.

I can't look away from the ambulance. He moves slowly, waiting in line until it's his turn, vanishing into the same plane as Jazz.

When I finally tear my gaze from that plane, I realize that everybody's boarded, and the tarmac's empty aside from the few soldiers that came to see the others off. I didn't want to join them – I said all my goodbyes yesterday. Going down there again today would have felt awkward.

One by one, the ramps are closed, and the planes tax down to take off. I watch until all of them disappear before standing up again and walking back to my flat.

Two weeks is nothing. Time's going to fly by, I just know it.

* * *

_Two weeks is an eternity. The base is so empty, there's nothing to do, there's nobody to do anything with. I hadn't really noticed how much the Autobots had wiggled their way into my everyday, normal life until they're all gone._

_I'm eating alone again, every meal. None of the soldiers I've talked to before are left here, and the others don't seem to want to get to know me. I've heard a few whispers of 'Autobot shrink', so apparently I've been categorized. That's okay – I'm not going to force my company on someone who doesn't want it. Still, it does leave me with even fewer clients than I'd like – none of the humans bother to come to me on their own, and now no one is referring them to me either. My work schedule's empty. So I've read and re-read every file in my Autobot 101 (and holy crap, I did not know that they could be physically intimate like that, that's just insane. I wonder how many dents Ratchet has had to pound out from 'Bots that weren't careful when they were fragging.) Didn't touch the 'Con files, not when I'm practically alone here – that's a recipe for nightmares if I've ever seen one. I'd rather not know what kind of evil my 'Bots are facing._

_I spend my days alone, too. Legend of Zelda got real old by day three, and I've watched every episode I had of the Doctor, so I'm reduced to re-watching other stuff or spending my days elsewhere. I've been on the shooting range, practising until I got new personal bests every time. (Jeremy would be proud – I finally managed that head shot he always talked about.) I've run around the island like seven times. I even climbed the buildings._

_I am so bored._

_And it's still at least another nine days before they're coming back._

_On the plus side, once my gaming/Doctor-watching spree tapered off, I've had time to do a lot of thinking. It's the first time since I met the Autobots that they've left me alone for more than an afternoon, so I kind of appreciate the mental head space. No new complications are arising, so I get to finally try to handle the old ones. Which is good._

_I've been watching Rewind's videos from Halloween. In addition to the Deathmatch thing, which he filmed in its entirety, he was everywhere that night. And he seems to have gotten all of the action. Which there was quite a bit of. Enough to blow me out of the water anyway._

_The hedonism and tactile needs of this race of aliens apparently know no bounds. I now know more about who paired off with whom and what they did in the dark corners than I had the need for. Seriously. Some of them I'd expected (though the footage of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker could easily be sold on the dark net for more money than I make in a day) but some of them blew my mind a bit._

_Like how the twins included Bluestreak at one point, mated pair easily splitting to sandwich him in the middle._

_Like Bumblebee kissing Ratchet when he was done with Wheeljack._

_And Arcee kissing Ratchet._

_For that matter, Ironhide kissing Ratchet while Chromia watched, laughing._

_Apparently, that medic is popular. (Too bad there's no shot of Optimus kissing him, that would have been a nice progress. Then again, I don't think the Prime kisses in public.)_

_Wheeljack kissing everybody, no inhibitions. I guess I shouldn't have expected him to have those. He did noticeably not kiss Ratchet, though. Guess there's something to be said for ancient history._

_The slightly lopsided and wobbly filming when an unknown entity snags Rewind. The sound effects don't leave much to the imagination. (Ref earlier comment about physical intimacy. Though I think he managed to escape, based on his counterpart's complaints.)_

_And in the middle of all that sexual tension, all those perfectly sculpted holoforms glued together, all that barely-legal slightly pornographic stuff, all the mature content: two minutes or so of First Aid holding me._

_Rewind stood perfectly still, filming us. I didn't even notice._

_He got us mid-Protectobot-sneak, First Aid's hands starting on my waist and ending up holding me. I'm grinning up at the stage, bouncing on my toes, talking and pointing. And First Aid… First Aid is looking at me. Through the whole clip, he never takes his eyes off me._

_Rewind apparently thought that was interesting, because he zoomed in at one point until only our heads and the upper part of our chests are in focus. I see First Aid smiling at me when I'm having fangirl moments, leaning in to murmur something in my ear and lingering closer than necessary, nuzzling at my hair or my neck, pressing his cheek to mine._

_I'm being adored, there, on that dance floor. And it took me forever to notice._

_Rewind's focus shifts down, to where First Aid's hands are resting against my stomach. Thumb gently rubbing against my tummy, or hand splayed flat against my shirt. And then my hands, on top of his, fingers intertwining._

_Rewind zoomed back out just as I realized our position. He's captured my surprised, wide-eyed look, first aimed towards the stage and then turned to First Aid. How the surprise melts off my face and turns into disbelief and then awed acceptance._

_First Aid's unbelievably happy expression when I lean my head against him, conscious of my actions for the first time._

_Oh my God._

_I've watched that clip seventeen times. And that's just today – I'm not saying how many times I've watched it altogether. Suffice it to say that if this was an old-fashioned VCR it would have been worn out by now._

_No matter how many times I see it, that expression still throws me. I've even paused the clip, studying him in detail._

_Yeah. I'm a hopeless case._

_And it seems like I'm almost the last one to notice. I mean, Arcee, Rewind, Sunstreaker… If they all got it independently, then everyone who wasn't glued to someone else for the entirety of the party got it. After all, First Aid was standing in the middle of the dance floor with me, right off the stage, wearing that expression._

_More than once, I've wished that Rewind had gotten the entire scene, just to see more of First Aid's face. I could spend all day watching this. Heck, I_ have _spent full days watching this._

_(I still don't understand how Rewind got both us and the Deathmatch – maybe he has multiple cameras. I can ask him when they get back.)_

_Cue the nerves again. I hope they all do get back. I hope they're not hurt by the Decepticons. Heck, I hope that the 'Cons decide to be seriously un-Decepticonny, and just roll over and surrender when the Autobots enter the fray. I hope the Autobots don't decide to relocate to California permanently, and forget to tell me._

_I just hope they don't forget me, period. Because I'm already waiting for them to come back. I think I was waiting for them to come back before they even left._

_At least with that video and First Aid's expression, I can believe that he won't forget me so easily._

_I need some air._

* * *

_My communicator's still silent. It's been eight days now. I've been keeping an eye on the news, but there hasn't been anything about giant robots fighting in California. Or anywhere else. So either it's going well, or it hasn't started yet, or it's being kept under wraps. Not that that's easy if it's a battle – those haven't been successfully concealed yet, not matter how clever the military acts._

_Apparently, the Autobots being gone makes for a quieter island, because now that they're not here, the wildlife is reappearing. I've seen more turtles and birds this last week than the entire month before. I even saw an albatross – it was flying too high to make out properly, but it was so big, it can't have been anything else. It's kind of cool. If I was a proper nature geek I would have a field day with this. Since I'm a sci-fi geek, I mainly spend my time missing the Autobots._

_Yeah. I miss them. I 'm so impatient for them to come back it's hard to focus on anything else. They're worming their way into every thought I have. So I try my best to find distractions._

_One of the soldiers is teaching me how to handle bigger weapons than the small handguns. He's apparently bored, too. So today I got to shoot a machine gun of some kind. It was fun – though my accuracy leaves a bit to be desired. Sean says we'll work on that._

_He reminds me so much of Jeremy. The same go-get-it attitude, the same snark. The same mocking half-grin when the target I hit isn't really the one I was aiming at. Which isn't that unusual, considering the bigger recoil on the guns he has me firing. He says I just need the practice, but he's usually laughing his head off when he says that, so I'm not sure how much I believe him. I guess we'll see – I'm getting another lesson day after tomorrow._

_This afternoon, I sat down to read Sunstreaker's file. I'd been putting it off – I guess I was nervous about what was in there. I've seen some of the conundrum that is the golden twin, but I think there's so much he's keeping hidden at all times. And after reading that, I understand why._

_Sunstreaker's been through every kind of hell imaginable. That file should have come with a tissue warning. I can't imagine surviving what he's been through – and certainly not coming out on the other side being moderately functional. I know why Ratchet wrote that Sunstreaker needs to learn to live with himself – there's enough trauma in his background to keep any team of shrinks busy. I'm going to be treating Sunstreaker for the rest of my professional life._

_At least now I know how to treat him. No tools for coping for him, no insistent probing, no needing to open up. Sunstreaker needs a safe haven where he can be accepted for who he is and learn to accept himself for who he is in turn. Sideswipe is offering some of that, but unless I'm mistaken Sideswipe has gone through a lot of the same things that his brother has. There's certainly mention of him often enough in Sunstreaker's file. Because of his more exuberant personality he's handled it better, and I'd be willing to bet that Sunstreaker's shielded him from a lot of it too. According to his file, he's placed himself between his brother and danger of all sorts more times than I cared to count._

_This is the first time I've ever considered this with a patient, but for Sunstreaker, fighting may well be therapeutic. I think it's one of two ways he lets off steam (the other being Sideswipe, I'm fairly sure). Now if only I could help him find a way to relax, be comfortable in his own self. Maybe meditation will work. And I'm certainly getting more art supplies for my office._

_I'm looking forward to his next session. Hopefully, it's just six days away._

* * *

The target I'd aimed carefully for is still standing there, mocking me. The board to the left showing off high scores and top-ten rankings, on the other hand…

"How the hell did you manage that?" Sean is laughing at me.

I shrug. "I don't know. I guess it had it coming?"

He shakes his head, still laughing. "You weren't even remotely aiming in that direction."

"I don't think this gun likes me," I pout. "Maybe I should stick to the smaller ones. It's not like I'm going to be in battle anyway."

"Nah, you'll get it if you practise," he chuckles, leaning down to take the heavy rifle from me and re-loading with easy familiarity. "But I'm definitely not letting you onto the range to practise if any living creature's anywhere in front of you. You'll kill people with that thing, even if you're aiming in the opposite direction." He sobers up, looking at me. "Besides, those small pea-shooters you can handle will barely take down a human, even less a 'Con. You need to know how to defend yourself if we're hit. You live on an army base, sure-shot. We're all targets here."

I frown at that. I don't like the idea of the Decepticons coming to Diego Garcia. Especially now that the Autobots aren't here.

"Here." He hands me the rifle. "Take aim again. Steady. Let the ground take the recoil, that's why you're lying like that. Short, easy bursts. And don't tense up your left arm, that's what's throwing you off."

Easy for him to say. He usually hits what he aims at with this thing.

I take a deep breath to steady myself, and do my best to relax my body. In the sight, I can see the target – a cardboard figure, human-sized but chunkier, spark-chamber and optics highlighted. Taking another deep breath, making sure I'm aiming straight, I squeeze the trigger briefly.

The target's pulverized.

"There you go," Sean says approvingly. "You got it right that time. Short burst and relaxed left arm."

I grin and stand up, stretching. "Yay me. I killed cardboard."

"Everyone has to start somewhere," he chuckles. "And even Ironhide would be satisfied with that last shot."

I wonder what First Aid would feel about me learning to shoot guns that could take down a Decepticon. The thought is sobering.

Sean notices my look, but get the reason for it all wrong. "Don't worry, they're not going to put you on the front lines. But that's enough for today, I think. Why don't you get out of here? I'll put the rifle away."

I hand him the gun. "Thanks. I'm going to go for a run."

He nods. "It's still at least three days until we can begin expecting them back. We might have time for one or two more sessions, if you're interested." The look in his eyes make it a question.

I nod. "Sure. Same time tomorrow?"

Sean gives me the thumbs up. "See you then."

* * *

Three more days. Three more days. They'll come home. Three more days.

The words are running through my mind, keeping with the rhythm of my feet hitting the dirt track. Three more days. Just three more days to wait, and they might all come back. I can wait for three days, I've already waited for eleven. Three days is nothing.

Oh my God, I'm going to be counting every minute.

I let my legs carry me down the path and into the jungle without paying much attention to where I'm going. I've taken this track several times in the last two weeks, I know it by heart at this point.

Three more days.

Not for the first time, I wonder if they're okay. The news have been quiet, and I can't decide if that's a mercy or not. It might mean they have to stay behind longer, to do what they left to do. Whatever that was. All I know is what Sunstreaker said – the Decepticons were acting like slagheads.

I have the sudden mental image of a toddler-like Megatron throwing a tantrum, kicking over a tower of blocks that look like human houses. It's not a pleasant picture, but it is hilarious.

Three more days.

The jungle is never silent, even with me in it. There are no mammals on Diego Garcia, but the birds are more than capable of keeping up a racket without them. They're actually more noisy than usual today, something must have startled them. Maybe there's an egg-hunting lizard afoot or something. The air in here is heavier, rich with smells that are unnoticeable outside the edge of the trees, and my lungs have to work harder to draw breath. It's a welcome distraction.

Three more days. Three more days. Three more – oh!

That branch wasn't there last time I ran this track. I flip head over heels down a slope, roots and rocks snagging at legs and elbows, until I crash into a tree and finally roll to a stop.

Ow. I wince as I try stretching my limbs out. I'm sore as pit – and there's a flare of amusement as I realize where I must have picked up that word – but nothing seems to be broken, or even sprained. That's good. I don't think there are any medics on-base at the moment.

I roll around and start to get up. And then freeze, still on my knees, staring.

Okay. That's definitely not an albatross. Or if it is, it's the Cybertronian version.

The big metal bird doesn't seem to have noticed me. It seems to be sleeping, one dark head tucked under a red and grey wing. It's chunkier than Earth birds, and something tells me it functions less like a bird and more like a tiny plane (tiny here only in comparison to an actual plane – this thing is as big as I am). It probably only uses its wings for steering, not flapping.

There was nothing in my files about the Cybertronians bringing their wildlife along. But I guess that if rats can move from continent to continent on sailships, then metal birds can hop from system to system on starships. It might not even have been noticed – big as it is, it's still tiny compared to most of the Autobots.

Briefly, I wonder if anything else snuck here aboard their ships. I have the sudden mental image of cyberbears the size of elephants and metal rats the size of German Shepherds.

I have to suppress a shudder at that.

Carefully, as quietly as I'm able, I crawl backwards, not taking my eyes off the metal creature. It seems to still be sleeping. I hope it doesn't wake up; even if it's not predatory, it's still big enough to cause me some serious harm if it gets upset. Even swans have been known to break bones.

Thankfully, it doesn't move.

Back on the path, I take a note of where I am. It's doubtful that the bird will still be there when the 'Bots come back, but maybe they can trap it or something. It definitely shouldn't be allowed to roam free here, it could wreak havoc on the local ecosystem.

Huh. I wonder what it eats.

That thought keeps my mind busy all the way back to my apartment.

Three more days.

* * *

As I walk back in among the buildings, still aching and sore all over, the base is less deserted than it usually is. For a moment, I wonder if they're back already – but these are all soldiers, and I've seen their faces in the last week. They're all going in the same direction, towards the rec room.

"Isobel!"

I turn to see Sean jogging towards me. He stops in front of me, looking me over with an incredulous expression on his young face. "What happened to you? Never mind," he interrupts himself before I have time to reply. I'm slightly offended at that – what if I'd been seriously hurt? – but his next words pushes that thought straight out of my mind. "Come on," he says, taking my arm. "They're on the news. The fighting's begun."

Finally.

_Finally._

No more waiting, not knowing what's happening or even if something's going on at all. I let Sean pull me to the rec room, where we file in with the others to watch the news on the TV in there.

"Which channel?" One of the soldiers call.

"Any of them!" another replies. "They're on every one."

Sure enough, they are. The soldier flickers through a lot of channels showing the same images before landing on one with a running audio commentary.

"… _and this is the scene from Ivanpah earlier today_ ," the female reporter says from off-screen. " _As you can see, the aliens have laid extensive waste to the facility. Reports indicate that the facility was intact yesterday, so all the damage you see here is new_."

As we watch, two dark shapes suddenly crash into the solar panels, rolling over each other until the black one manages to break away from the other and aim an arm-mounted cannon at the other's head.

"Who's that Ironhide is fighting?"

"I don't know, is it one of the Combaticons?"

"What the hell are Combaticons?"

"Shut up and listen, will you?"

I ignore the soldiers, and walk around the edge of the room to get closer to the screen. These guys are all taller than me, I can't see properly past them.

"… _we have similar reports from other Californian power plants_ ," the reporter continues as the image changes. Arcee and Chromia dual-charging a big but fairly slow Decepticon. Skids and Mudflap barrelling into something that looks more like a tank than a robot, knocking over a wind turbine in the process. Sideswipe, clinging to the back of a purple and black jet that I realize must be Skywarp.

Two giant robots, bigger than anything I've ever seen, battling it out in front of a nuclear reactor.

"Holy crap, that's another combiner team," one of the soldiers gasps. "Did we know that the 'Cons had more of those? I haven't seen that one before."

"Optimus must have known," another points out, "or he wouldn't have swung by and picked up the rest of Defensor."

Defensor. I find myself staring at the left arm of the smaller robot. Sure enough, the red and white is recognizable.

This is insane. It's hard to wrap my head around.

I'm watching the person I may very well be falling for acting as the left arm of a taller-than-a-skyscraper alien robot.

That makes no kind of sense whatsoever.

The picture changes. Five different planes are flying in formation against two jets, set apart only by color scheme – Starscream and Thundercracker, I realize.

"Hey, I thought the Aerialbots were in South America," someone comments.

"Well, the Protectobots were supposed to be in Europe," another cuts in. "Get with the program already, no one's where they were before."

"Will you guys shut up and listen!?"

Thundercracker's hit, spiralling out of the sky.

"… _we don't know yet what the motivation for the attacks were_ ," the reporter says. " _But it is likely that the fluctuations in power production may have something to do with it. As reported previously, all these plants have been operating at capacity, but the production rate has still dropped."_

Ironhide's back, dragging another mech along by the arm.

"So that's it," a soldier says. "The 'Cons have been siphoning power."

I watch as Defensor is hit, and splits into five different robots. One of them is immediately airborne – Blades, I realize, remembering First Aid's stories – whilst another, bigger one takes a swipe at the leg component of the enemy combiner. Somewhere off-screen a weapon must have been fired, because the enemy combiner takes a hit to the hip and disconnects into its separate parts.

The videos disappear, cutting to a news studio where two important-looking men in expensive suits start discussing what's really going on. It gets obvious real quick that they don't have a clue.

"Morons," one of the soldiers snicker, and change the channel.

I don't really notice. In my mind, I'm watching Defensor split apart over and over again.

"Hey, hang on, that's Optimus!"

The channel is changed again, and Optimus Prime's furious face is filling the screen. That's enough to snap me out of it and pay attention again.

_"… comment on this?"_ a reporter asks, microphone shoved up against the Prime's face. Apparently, the reporter is standing on some sort of dais or something, because he's eye height with the Prime.

" _We are glad that this could be resolved without human casualties, and we regret the loss of your infrastructure,_ " Optimus says curtly. He sounds mad, and it suddenly occurs to me that I've never heard the leader of the Autobots angry before. " _That said, we do believe it would have been worse if we had let the Decepticons continue to siphon off your power and destabilize the crust with their tunnelling. Be sure that we will take the necessary steps to prevent this ever happening here again. No further comment."_

"Whoa, he's pissed," a soldier sniggers.

"Dumbass civ reporters don't know when to not push," another one grumbles.

On the screen, humans are swarming over what's left of a large solar plant. It looks like the same place where Ironhide was whacking that unknown 'Con.

" _As you can see, Phil, the damage is extensive,"_ the reporter says. _"And we've just had it confirmed that the situation is even worse at Alta and Diablo Canyon. It will take time and extensive financial backing to rebuild. In the meantime, hundreds of thousands of Californians face the weekend without electrical power. And one has to wonder whether these so-called Autobots are as benign as they say, or if this –_ " at this, he waves a hand, indicating the scenes behind him " _\- was part of their plan all along."_

At that, the room explodes into a cacophony of shouting and curses. The channel is changed.

"Well, at least it sounds as if they won," Sean says from behind me. I hadn't noticed that he'd followed me. "Which means that as soon as they've licked their wounds, they're coming back here, and we can show Ironhide that new and improved aim of yours."

I nod at that. And then I smile. He's right, they must have won. Optimus didn't say anything about injuries, but by the banter around me the soldiers are fully expecting everyone to come back in one piece thanks to the Holy Miracles of Ratchet, so it might be okay.

It might be okay.

"Come on," Sean says, touching my arm. "We need to get those scrapes of yours looked at."

* * *

_Tomorrow._

_They're coming back tomorrow. That makes it exactly – let's see – fourteen days that they've been away. Fourteen really, really, really long days._

_My communicator, which seems to function somewhat like an old-fashioned pager of sorts, has beeped exactly once in all the time they've been gone. That was an hour ago. The message was short – "Be back tomorrow. All's well. P." I guess I shouldn't have expected more. At least Prowl wrote that all was well – whatever that actually means._

_I've been watching the news a lot this weekend. All the channels have been showing the same footage over and over. I've tried to determine whether anyone was hurt, but it's hard to tell. At least I'm glad that none of them died – the news would have made a big deal out of that._

_The news love the Cybertronians. They would be milking a death for all it was worth._

_For once, I'm really glad that American news channels are so sensationalist. I would be going crazy, otherwise. I've been watching every channel, been able to see my Autobots, and even been able to laugh at a few of the scenes._

_Like Ironhide going all 'Hulk smash' on that 'Con, or Bumblebee getting somehow thrown up on top of that one combiner team and proceeding to beat them to pieces._

_There have been nerve-wracking scenes, too. Scenes that have made it painfully obvious to me that these are warriors. Soldiers. In all the playful banter and flirting I had actually managed to forget that the Autobots are fighting a war. And have been for millions of years._

_It's very clear now._

_I watched Bluestreak, kind, sweet Bluestreak, take aim and shoot a Seeker out of the sky. Then he moved slightly, taking aim again, shot out the leg mech of a Decepticon combiner and causing the whole thing to come crashing down._

_Sideswipe, whooping and laughing. With his fingers buried deep in a gap between a Decepticon's armor plates, someone else's vital fluids running down his arms._

_Jazz, tearing out 'Con neck cabling with his bare hands._

_Ironhide again, cannons on his arms firing on a 'Con point blank, turning the other's arm and part of his torso to smithereens._

_Some of the clips made me so sick to my stomach I had to turn the TV off._

_I know they left to help, to fight for us, to protect us from the Decepticons. Doesn't make it feel any better._

_I realize why First Aid is hesitant to fight. I'm tempted to never pick up a gun again._

_According to my files, the war started because government-implemented social inequality, starvation and borderline slavery finally set off a revolt that grew to planet-wide proportions. And that sounds valid enough, to me – fighting against those conditions, I mean. But what's weird is that the war wasn't really between the faction that wanted to change things and the faction that didn't. Both factions wanted change. The war was fought between the faction that wanted to resolve things peacefully and the faction that thought that was never going to work, and went the terrorist way instead. There seems to also have been a fair bit of vengeance involved – atrocities were committed, both in the name of change and in the name of tradition. Cities were levelled. In the end, the planet was almost completely destroyed. It certainly couldn't support life anymore._

_I wonder what they're fighting for now. What do you fight for when the traditions, the government, the social strata, heck, even the physical cities have been destroyed?_

_Revenge? Survival?_

_Revenge doesn't seem like a good enough cause for the slaughter I've watched the last couple of days. And if you're fighting for survival, and you're a dying race, wouldn't survival be more likely if the infighting stopped?_

_I'm inclined to agree with Eject on this. We should get the Cybertronians a really, really, really big football and let them deuce it out on the field._

_Or maybe athletics. Less physical contact. I'm sure we could even sell tickets – I'd pay to watch Sunstreaker throw a spear. I'd bet he'd look good doing it. He looks good no matter what he does._

_Even killing 'Cons._

_Crap. I want them back. I want them back now. And I never want to let them go to battle again. I don't want the Decepticons to, either. I wish they'd all just stop._

_Yeah. World peace. There's a pipe dream._

* * *

The planes should be visible on the horizon soon. I keep telling myself that, and schooling myself to patience, but it's not easy.

I will not bounce on my toes in the middle of all these soldiers. I will not.

But I can't stop myself from scanning the horizon every thirty seconds.

I did wonder, briefly, if I should just wait on the hilltop again. But I didn't want to – I really wanted to be on the tarmac, to welcome them home. And no one seems to think it's strange that I'm here, so I guess it's OK.

Besides, I am the 'Autobot shrink'. I think I'm entitled to a place on the welcoming committee.

At long last, after at least, oh, six everlasting minutes of waiting, I see three flashes of silver on the horizon. It doesn't take long before the soldiers notice, and an exited murmur travels through them.

I'm suddenly so nervous I have to lock my knees to stay upright.

I change my mind. I probably shouldn't be down here waiting with the soldiers, should I? I'm just a civilian. I should have waited, should have talked to the Autobots tomorrow instead.

But it's too late to sneak away now, the soldiers all know I was here. I kind of stand out, a smallish blonde figure in a sea of tall soldiers in camouflage. So leaving now will look really weird.

And it's not like I don't want to greet the returning heroes. I'm just really worried about what they'll think when they see me, and how I will feel when I see them.

Sooner than I'd like, and faster than I feared, the planes are touching down on the tarmac. There's a definite military precision here. No circling while one moves out of the way; they come down the same way they left two weeks ago, in a line, one after the other.

I clench my hands as the first plane taxes to a stop and opens the cargo doors.

I was expecting Optimus, but Ratchet is first out, transforming right outside the plane. His neon paint is chipped and scratched. He's followed by Bluestreak and Bumblebee, and the sight of them sends shivers down my spine.

They look like they've been through a car crusher. Bluestreak is bare metal more than his usual grey and red, and Bumblebee's limping along and seems to be missing an arm. Both doorwings are gone, too, but I see Ratchet's carrying them. Missing them seems to be causing him some imbalance.

"What happened to Bumblebee?" I gasp.

"The Stunticons did."

I turn to find Sideswipe and Sunstreaker disembarking from another plane. Sideswipe, also sporting dents and scrapes and walking in a hunch, grins at me. "Bumblebee took on a combiner team by himself. He's slagging proud about it, too."

Sunstreaker just smirks. "Little glitch."

I stare at the golden twin. "How are you shiny when everyone else looks like they've been to the pit and back?"

Sideswipe snorts. "Because Sunny packs his paints in his subspace. Everyone else packs weapons and extra Energon, he packs detailing kits and spray cans."

"Of course," Sunstreaker says haughtily. "I'm always prepared."

"Sideswipe!" Ratchet bellows. "Med bay!"

"Yessir." Sideswipe winks at me and turns to follow Bluestreak and Bumblebee, Sunstreaker trailing along behind him. They've been joined by a battered-looking Ironhide, Mirage supporting Chromia, and Blaster carrying Arcee. Everyone looks worse for wear.

"Did everyone get injured?" I wonder.

"Looks like it," one of the soldiers behind me replies. "I've seen them worse, though. At least no one's been brought back in pieces this time."

I shudder at that picture.

Prowl walks out of a plane, Jazz hanging onto his arm. Jazz's visor is dark – cracked and broken, it looks like, and they're both dented up pretty bad, but they seem to be okay aside from that. Behind them, Wheeljack is lending himself out as a crutch to a tall, winged Autobot I haven't seen before.

"Hey, it's Silverbolt! They brought the Aerialbots back!" The soldiers are cheering around me, and the Autobot leaning on Wheeljack grins and waves at them.

More winged Autobots follow Silverbolt off the plane, and the soldiers are cheering. I hardly notice, though. Because the first one off the third plane is a white and red ambulance.

First Aid transforms, stands to his full height as he beckons for someone to follow him off the plane. At first, nothing happens. Then the alt mode of Optimus Prime comes inching out of the plane. Four other new Autobots surround him, and with a start I recognize the rest of the Protectobots – Blades and Streetwise on either side of Optimus's cab, Groove and Hot Spot behind him. It takes me a moment to realize that they're pushing the big semi.

"Optimus!"

"What happened to boss bot?"

"Prime, are you okay?"

First Aid waves a hand at the soldiers. "He's not badly hurt," he says. "Megatron took out a transformation relay and damaged his legs pretty badly, so we had to put him in stasis lock and force-transform him into alt mode to get him home. He'll be fine as soon as we get him repaired, don't worry. It's not life-threatening."

The collective relieved sigh that echoes around me is almost amusing.

I watch as the Protectobots manhandle Prime off the tarmac and towards med bay, followed by the rest of the ragged band of returning Autobots. The soldiers pour out of the planes and join the ones waiting on the tarmac, and before I have time to actually register what is happening I'm standing alone by the three empty planes.

Huh. Now what do I do?

First Aid didn't seem to notice me, but that's okay. He had a patient. A fairly important one, at that. But I'd like to talk to some of the others, see what actually happened. At worst, I'll be told that I have to wait, and I'll have to go back to my apartment. I can live with that, though, I just need to make sure that they're okay first.

I have to giggle at myself. At some point during the last two weeks – or more likely, the last three days – I've turned into a proper mother hen, not able to rest until I'm sure my charges are all right. Never mind the fact that my charges are at least three times my height and older than my entire race.

I turn in the direction that First Aid went, and follow the Autobots to the med bay.

The building must be crowded, because there are patients waiting to be treated outside. None of those with major injuries – Bluestreak, Bumblebee, Optimus, Arcee, Ironhide and Chromia aren't waiting, so they must be inside.

All four of the Protectobots are outside, though. It looks like I'm going to meet First Aid's brothers without First Aid there to introduce me.

The tallest one, the one that looks a bit like Optimus, raises his head when I walk up. "Oh. You're Isobel."

"Yes," I confirm.

"I'm Hot Spot."

That's what I thought. "Hello, Hot Spot. It's nice to meet you."

Awkward silence ensues, predictably enough.

"Um." I wave my hand to indicate the state of chaos that is med bay. "I came to see if I could help."

"That's nice of you. But Ratchet and First Aid have their hands full operating, we don't need a human running around in there."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I can see that." I try smiling. It doesn't work. They're all four of them staring at me. "So there's nothing I can do for you?"

"He said 'no'," Blades says, frowning at me. "Is that hard to understand?"

I blink. I didn't actually expect hostility.

"Isobel?"

The voice comes from the entrance to the med bay. "Prowl?"

"I thought I heard you." He walks out, moving stiffly and looking a billion years old. "Thank you for offering. Hot Spot is correct, though – for today, we have enough with the physical injuries. I really do appreciate you meeting the planes." He smiles at me. "It was nice to see you."

"It's nice to have you guys back," I say with real feeling. "Will everyone be okay?"

He nods an affirmation. "Yes. They were already out of danger, Ratchet and First Aid saw to that before we left California. I'd say this base will be back to its usual chaos within the end of the week."

I grin. The relief is making me giddy – after all those news scenes, it's good to know that we can go back to normal. "Good. I look forward to it. I'll see you around, then? Tell the others 'hi' from me." I look from Prowl's small smile to the four Protectobots still staring at me. "Um. It was nice meeting you. I guess I'll see you around."

Two blank faces, a sneer and a small frown. Goody.

"Okay then," I shrug. "Bye, mechs."

I really hope my friends will be back on their feet soon. Sunstreaker seemed okay – maybe he'll talk to me tomorrow. First Aid will probably be busy for the next couple of days, and even then, he has his brothers back now, he might not have time for me for a while.

The thought stings. I shrug it off.

I also refuse to think about the fact that his brothers didn't seem to like me very much. It was probably a misunderstanding – I probably read them wrong or something. We don't really know each other, after all.

Yeah. It'll sort itself. I hope.


	14. Reunion

"Hey Isobel, how long is it until Christmas?"

I pause, fork halfway to my mouth, staring dumbly at the blond holoform. "Huh?"

"You heard," Bumblebee grins, taking a seat across from me. "How long until Christmas?"

I shake my head at the look on his face. "About five or six weeks, I'd say. Why?"

The smirk I get for that is downright diabolic. "Oh, I just want to make sure we have time to plan the party."

"Another party?" I laugh, pointing at him with my fork. "You going to help with the whole clean-up this time? Isn't it a bit early to start thinking of Christmas, anyway?"

"You may laugh," he says, in mock-seriousness. "But I have it on good authority that it's never too early to start planning the Christmas party."

"Oh yeah?" I take another bite of my food, swallowing before I continue. "And whose authority is that?"

"Sarah's, Lennox's wife," he says airily. "Lennox says she always finish getting everyone's Christmas presents before the first of December, too." He looks around as if checking if anyone's listening to us – fat chance of that, we're in the human mess hall, I've been ignored here for weeks – and then winks at me. "So have you gotten your present for First Aid yet? What are you getting him?"

Okay. Dodging that question.

"I haven't gotten anyone's Christmas presents yet, Bumblebee," I reply, taking another mouthful of food. That's an excellent ploy for time, usually, but it doesn't really deter Bumblebee. Not that there's much that can.

"No? You're not an early shopper?"

I shrug. "No need to be early when you're only buying one or two presents." I frown slightly at that. "I guess I should probably start earlier this year, when I think about it, since there are more presents to buy than before. I kind of want to get everyone something."

"Only one or two presents?" he asks, sounding incredulous. "What, you don't believe in gift-giving?"

I point at him with my fork again. "That's assuming. And it's rude, too – did the 'Cons rub off on you? No," I shake my head. "The last, oh, seven years I guess, I only bought presents for my father and brother. After they passed away, I've given money to charity instead."

His face falls. "Pit, I'm sorry, Isobel. I didn't mean that the way it came out."

"'S okay." I shake my head, take another mouthful of food before putting my fork down on the empty plate. "I know." I do need a new topic of conversation, though. "So when did you get out of med bay?"

He leans back, tilting the chair onto its back legs. "Me and Blue were finally released today. We were the last, too. Everyone's back to normal again."

I'm not. And I'm probably reading more into it than he actually meant, but it stings a bit to think that they've gone back to normal without me. I hope I'm overreacting.

"Good," I smile. "It hasn't been the same with everyone laid up." I stand up, and so does he, taking my tray before I have the chance to.

"Is that why you're eating in here again, by yourself?"

"Not that much point carting my food over to another building to eat by myself there, is it?" I give a half-shrug as he dumps my tray. "Thanks."

"Sure. No, I guess not. No one's been there?"

I shake my head. "Nope. I've been by a fair few times, but it's always empty. Rec room, too."

"Huh. I guess everyone must have been recharging." He shrugs, grins at me. I recognize an attempt to lighten the mood, which seems to have gotten grim all by itself. "So what are you doing this weekend? Do you and First Aid have plans?"

So much for that attempt. Another question I have to dodge. "I haven't thought about it," I reply. Which is completely and utterly untrue, of course. "Guess I'll take a run or something, maybe watch a movie."

Bumblebee may be too energetic to notice what's going on in front of him sometimes – for a scout, he can be surprisingly dense in private - but now he finally catches on. He stops, turns to look at me, a slight frown marring his perfect forehead. "You don't have plans? I know for a fact that there were plans made that included you."

I shrug. "Not that I've heard of. Then again, you're the first 'Bot I've talked to since you landed on Tuesday."

Unfortunately, that part's true. I went back to my office on Wednesday in case someone wandered in, but it's been as empty in the last three days as it was in the two weeks they were gone. And with their mess hall and rec room deserted as well, I've mostly just gone home instead. The island's been as empty as it was last week – if I hadn't known they were back, I wouldn't have believed they actually were. It's freaky.

Bumblebee stares at me. "But it's Friday."

I nod, shoot him a half-smile. "Yes. Yes, it is."

"It's been three days."

Yeah, you don't have to tell me that. I keep count.

"You're seriously telling me that you haven't talked to a single Autobot since we got back here? Not even First Aid?"

I shrug. "I'm seriously telling you that. But as you said, they've probably all been recharging or something. First Aid's probably been stuck in med bay. With the last 'Bots released today, there must have been a lot of work to do."

"And you didn't go by med bay, did you."

Wow. Scarily observant, all of a sudden. I'm not sure I want to answer that. I certainly don't want to tell him that the reason I haven't been there is because the idea of meeting First Aid's brothers again makes me really nervous.

So I just shrug again.

He takes my hand, a determined look on his face. "Come on."

I raise an eyebrow at him, but let him tug me along. "Come on where?"

"Our hangar," he replies. "If no one's coming to where you are, I'm bringing you to them. I don't want you to think we've forgotten all about you."

"I didn't think you had." Not rationally, I didn't. Though I kind of did anyway.

Bumblebee pulls me along to where his alt mode is waiting. The driver's side door opens as we approach.

"In you get," he grins, before vanishing.

I chuckle a bit at that, but I get in the car.

"Welcome to the Camaro experience," Bumblebee's voice says from the radio. "The original iconic car! Please fasten your seatbelt and keep your arms and legs inside of the vehicle at all times."

The seatbelt fastens on its own. Apprehensively, I take hold of the steering wheel – mainly to have something to hold on to. "Bee, what are you – whoa!"

It's not the sound of the tires spinning on the gravel. It's not the breakneck speed he puts up, throwing himself around corners and through narrow passages with reckless abandon.

It's the _laughing_.

Bumblebee's laughing loudly and wildly all the time as he careens down the roadways, heading for one of the hangars. It reminds me of Sideswipe's mad cackling as he stood with Decepticon guts covering his silver sheen.

When he finally stops outside one of the hangars, and open the door to let me out, I feel physically ill. I dump down on the ground, head on my knees.

"Isobel?" Bumblebee transforms next to me. "You okay?"

"I cannot believe they let you drive on normal roads," I say accusingly. "You're insane."

He chuckles lightly at that, scoops me up off the ground. "Sorry. I should have asked before driving like that."

I will my stomach to hold on to my dinner. At least Bumblebee tries to carry me carefully.

"Welcome to my humble abode," he grins. "Well, mine, Blue's, Sides and Sunny's, Skids and Mudflap's, I guess. And then through the back door is the other half of it, that's Mirage, Blaster and the cassettes, Arcee, a few others."

I look around. They certainly don't have a lot of privacy. The large room seems to be divided into living and sleeping with the sleeping quarters in the back, but every enormous bunk is in plain view from the entrance, and the door to the other half of the hangar is in the center of the room, so you have to walk in between all the beds to get to it.

"Nice," I comment. "Airy."

Bumblebee snorts. "Yep, no room for secrets in here."

He carries me over to the large sofas set in a loose circle. With a grin, I realize that I recognize at least one of them from our movie night.

Bluestreak's sitting in one of the others, talking to a red and white Autobot with the nose cone of a plane sticking up behind his head. They both turn at our approach.

"Hey guys, I brought someone who's been alone for three weeks!" Bumblebee's grinning as he puts me down on the table.

"Isobel! Hey, have you met Fireflight? I guess you haven't if you've been alone for three weeks. This is Fireflight, he's one of the Aerialbots! We picked them up in Guatemala, but I don't know what they were doing there. Apparently it's secret." Bluestreak shoots me a quick grin that fades into puzzlement. "Were you really all alone? I thought you would hang out with the humans. It's nice to see you again, though! How have you been?"

Well, Bluestreak hasn't changed much. That's a relief.

"I have not been alone for three weeks!" I take a swat at Bumblebee's hand. "Not completely. I've missed you guys though, it's been empty without you. But I've made a new friend, and he's been giving me shooting lessons, actually. So now I'm soon fit to go to the range with you." I grin at Bluestreak, before turning to the shyly smiling flier sitting next to him on the sofa. "Hey, Fireflight, nice to meet you. I'm Isobel, I'm the base psychologist."

He nods at that, still smiling at me. Maybe this gestalt at least is okay with me. "I know, I've heard of you. It's nice to meet you too! I like your hair!"

"Heh, thanks!" I drop to sit crosslegged at the table, facing him. "So if you've heard of me, what have you heard?"

"Oh, all sorts of things! Jazz said you had a leash on the twins, I don't know quite what that means. Did you put collars on them?"

I have a brief mental flash of Sunstreaker with a spiky dog collar on his neck, and crack up. Behind me, Bumblebee's laughing loudly.

Poor Fireflight just looks puzzled.

"Sorry, Fireflight," I giggle when I find my breath again. "No, I didn't."

"Isobel let them know how to behave," Bluestreak smirks. "Sunstreaker sulked for a week. They've been much easier to handle after that, too. I don't know if you've noticed, Isobel, you were avoiding them after all, but they've at times been downright nice. Not that Sides isn't nice most of the time, he can be a bit pushy is all, but even Sunny's been almost mellow."

"Mellow, huh?" I grin at that. "Good for him. And good for the rest of you, I'd guess."

"So where are our terrible twins?" Bumblebee asks, looking around the hangar. "Wash racks?"

"Sunstreaker wishes," Fireflight giggles. "They had to report to Prime. Silverbolt says it was their turn. Everyone's been reporting in after he came back online, since he couldn't take reports after the battle."

"I saw you guys on TV," I interject, pulling my knees up to my chin and hugging my legs. "It was ghastly."

"It had rough bits," Bumblebee concedes. Then he shoots me a feral grin. "Fun, though. I've never been allowed to go straight at a gestalt team before."

"And one that had already downed Defensor at that," Fireflight adds. "That was intense."

Bluestreak is looking at me, eyeing my posture. "You shouldn't have watched if it upset you, Isobel."

"Yeah, right," I scoff. "I had to find out how you were doing, didn't I? I wanted to be prepared, in case..."

Bluestreak tilts his head. "In case?"

"In case someone didn't make it home," I admit. "I had to know, I had to be prepared. Also in case someone needed me for extra appointments upon your return."

Bumblebee just stares at me. "Like we wouldn't have told you before we came home if we'd lost somebody."

I shrug. "Yeah, you might have. But I couldn't not watch when they started showing the fighting. I worried."

Bumblebee transforms suddenly. His holoform manifests with his arms already around me. "I'm sorry, Isobel. We don't want you to worry."

My first holoform hug in three weeks. It's heaven. I hug him back just as tightly. "Well, if you didn't want me to worry about you, you should have stayed away from me in the first place. Of course I worry."

"I think it's nice," Fireflight puts in. Bumblebee eyes him incredulously, and he shrugs. "I don't mean that I want her to worry. But it's nice to be worried about. It shows that she cares." He grins at me. "It's like Silverbolt. He always frets when one of us is away or on patrol without him. I know if he was stuck with watching us going to fight and he had to stay behind, he'd go slightly mad. The Protectobots are the same. Hot Spot was constantly anxious when First Aid first came here without the rest of them. Even Blades was uneasy, though he'd never own up to it. I'd bet if you'd -" He leans back suddenly, frowns slightly. That's the same inward-focused look that the 'Bots tend to wear when they're accessing the internet.

Bluestreak tilts his head and prods Fireflight carefully. "Your brothers?"

"Yeah," the flier sighs, smiling ruefully. "Prowl wants the new gestalts to come in and talk duty rosters. I have to go." He stands up, then lays a hand on one of Bluestreak's doorwings. "You still showing me around the base later?"

I know I didn't imagine the slight shudder that runs through Bluestreak's frame. "You know it," he grins. "Meet me when you're done."

A slight squeeze to the doorwing, a grin to me and Bumblebee, and Fireflight leaves.

And I know that look on Bluestreak's face. That's the universal – for once, in the true meaning of the word – look of 'I really like that guy'.

Bumblebee catches my eye and winks, and I grin back. Oh yes, Bluestreak, we saw that.

"Nice to have the Aerialbots back on base, isn't it," Bumblebee says. He's aiming for a neutral tone, but that shit-eating grin spoils it.

Bluestreak starts, tearing his focus from the door Fireflight just left through. "Oh, mute it," he replies good-naturedly. "It's none of your business, anyway."

Bumblebee chuckles, then turns to me. "So are you ready?"

"Ready? For what?" I eye that smug look on his face. It doesn't bode well for me. "Are we planning the Christmas party already?"

"No, silly," he laughs. "We're going to med bay to see First Aid. Since Bluestreak is resisting my matchmaking abilities, I'll have to work with you instead."

"I do not need a matchmaker." I'm trying to be as stern as I can, but that twinkle in his eye makes it difficult.

"Says the girl who hasn't spoken to her date in three weeks."

I shake my head at the grinning holoform. "Your grasp of human culture is failing. You need to watch more movies."

"Is that an offer?"

"It's a threat," I say, quirking an eyebrow at him. "I'll have you up to your pretty eyes in rom-coms before you can say 'match'."

Bumblebee's laughing now, loudly enough that I'm leaning slightly away from him. "Come on, Isobel," he says, standing up and pulling me to my feet. "We have a Protectobot to go find."

* * *

The med bay is quieter today. Bumblebee's consented to carrying me instead of driving – I don't want to arrive at med bay looking like I need medical aid, that's not why we're here.

The relief at not seeing anyone waiting outside is almost a physical thing.

"Silverbolt says First Aid was supposed to do inventory with Ratchet," Bumblebee says, putting me down. "The other Protectobots are still talking to Prowl." He prods me gently towards the entrance to the building. "Go get him."

I turn back, quirk an eyebrow at him. There's something I can't figure out. "Why are you so invested in this anyway? What's it to you?"

He smiles, a slight curve of his mouth. "Because you two on that dance floor were the cutest thing I've ever seen. And I'm an utter sucker for cute, embarrassingly enough." Those blue eyes wink at me. "See? Perfect mastery of Earth slang." Another slight push to my back, yellow fingers oh-so-careful. "Now go."

I turn, walk towards the doorway, push them open to walk through.

Inside, it's quiet. I walk through the outer hallway until I get to med bay proper, pushing open the second set of doors.

The first Autobot I see is not the one I really wanted to find.

"Hey, Ratchet. Welcome back."

"Isobel," he grunts. "Good to be back. Can I help you with something? You hurt?" He focuses on me, and I'm willing to bet my pants that I'm being scanned. "Some old, half-healed scratches, a bit of bruising, nothing recent and worth bothering me about. So what's up?"

"Um." I bounce on my toes a bit. "I actually came to see First Aid."

"Oh, you did, did you?" He frowns at me before shaking his head with a small smile. "Younglings. There's no holding you back." He raises a hand to point behind him. "He's in Storage 3. Tell him he's done for today, will you? Kid's done enough work for two mechs this last week. He deserves a break."

I nod, shoot him a tentative smile. "I will. Thanks, Ratchet."

Walking in the direction he indicated, I go through another set of doors and find myself in a storage area of sorts. The walls are covered in shelving, each one taller than me and crammed full of different metal equipment.

At the back of the room, a tall, red and white Autobot is sorting through a box of something. My breath catches in my throat. I make myself walk closer.

"Hey, First Aid. Welcome back."

The clutter of the box falling to the floor would probably be funny if I could find it in me to focus on it. But that blue visor suddenly aimed in my direction has taken all of my attention.

"Isobel," he breathes, voice almost staticky. "You're here."

I smile at that, a small lift to one corner of my mouth. "Of course. You were the ones who left to fight a war, remember? I've been right here for three weeks."

"Heh," he chuckles, rubbing his helms in a very human gesture. "I guess you're right about that." He takes a hesitant step towards me. "So how have you been?"

"Oh, you know," I shrug. "Kept busy. Running. Watching sci-fi shows. Brushing up on my history. Or yours, I guess."

"Well, that's good." His smile is also a mere quirk of mouth plates. "So what brings you to med bay? You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, I'm good."

What brings me? Honestly, what does he think brings me? The interesting medical equipment? Ratchet's sourly attitude? (And oh, I hope that Optimus can fix that, maybe I need to give them both a nudge in the rear bumper.)

I guess being dense in the face of emotion isn't something that's reserved for the human race. Though in present company I think I know which one's slowest on the uptake, and it's not him, not by a long shot.

I don't notice that I'm biting my lip until it starts hurting. Apparently, I'm nervous about this. "I wanted to say hi. Welcome you back."

"Thanks." Another small step in my direction. "It's been chaotic, these last few days. I haven't had the chance to talk to you." He ducks his head, visor flashing in my direction again; the same gesture that has him looking up through long eyelashes when in holoform. "Though I really wanted to."

"I know it's been crazy for you," I murmur, taking a step of my own. "Everyone was injured. I offered to help, but it looked like you had it well in hand." No way I'm spoiling this by saying his brothers practically threw me out.

"I didn't know you'd been by already," he says, hesitantly. "When were you here?"

So they didn't tell him. I wonder why. "Oh, on Tuesday, right after you landed." I try to wave it away. "Prowl told me that you had everything in hand and that everyone was okay, so I figured I'd give you a few days." I look at his visor. Here goes nothing. "I'm glad you're back. I missed you."

He stops, stares at me. Then he folds in on himself, and the holoform appears in front of the ambulance. "I missed you, too," he breathes, long eyelashes throwing shadows on his cheek bones. He crosses the last few meters between us slowly, and lifts his hand to trace fingertips along my cheek. "All the time."

I chuckle quietly, tilt my head, moving into the touch. "Even when you were an arm?"

"Even then," he grins, his other hand lifting to cradle my face. "Drove my brothers insane." Thumbs rub gentle circles against my skin. I didn't notice that I'd moved them, but suddenly my hands are holding on to his arms.

Strong, warm arms that let go of their hold on my face to slide down and encircle my waist.

"I hope I didn't drive you to distraction," I whisper, drowning in those eyes, suddenly so very close to mine. My hands have moved up to lay against his chest. "Arms need to focus, too."

"I've been driven to distraction by you since we first met, Isobel," he murmurs, forehead leaning against mine. "I've learned to work around it."

"… should I be proud or offended by that?"

"Heh." He chuckles quietly. "How about happy?"

I smile. "I can do that."

And then he kisses me.

This is not like the last time. No desperation, no feeling like I have to risk it in case I never get another chance, no fierce determination to make him come back to me. But oh my God, his lips are so soft, molding against mine, pressing gently, and I barely notice when my arms snake around his neck and my fingers twine into his ponytail. Suddenly I'm off the ground, First Aid pulling me so close that my feet can't reach the floor anymore, and that's a good thing because my legs were about to give way and if he hadn't been holding on to me I would be a puddle on the floor, seriously.

When he breaks the kiss, a soft moan escapes my throat and I cling tighter to him.

"I'm on duty," he murmurs, pressing small kisses against my cheek and jaw line.

"Not anymore," I breathe, trying to catch his lips again. "Ratchet said to tell you that you were done for today."

"Did he now," First Aid grins against my lips. "Then why are we still standing around?"

I squeal as I suddenly find myself even higher off the ground, and the ambulance comes skidding up to us. First Aid pulls back and shoots me a truly wicked grin. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

"Mmmm," I murmur, feeling every part of my body turn slowly to Jell-O. "That feels soooo good. Not sure I know what I did to deserve this."

"Well, you did take out a weekly subscription," First Aid replies teasingly, warm, strong fingers travelling over my back. "And I've missed three of them. I want to make it up to you."

"So you're going to make it up to me all at once?"

"Heh. Of course not." Those hands, oh my God, I'm melting. "What would be the point of that? No, I'm actually hoping that I'll get you to take out a daily subscription if I'm persuasive enough." He leans in, breathes the words into my ear. "So I plan to be very persuasive."

And I get goose bumps all the way from my heels to my hair line. I know he can tell as they spread out on my arms, past the reach of my t-shirt – the quiet chuckle gives him away.

I twist to catch a glimpse of his face. Yep, that's definitely a smirk. That's what I thought I heard.

"Careful there, magic touch, or you might never get out of here," I wink at him. "And then I'd have Ratchet on my case."

Fingers trace gently down my spine. "Hmm. Yes, we wouldn't want that." Thumbs rub firm circles on either side of my spinal column. "I guess I'll have to leave you wanting more, then." Soft breath on my neck, tiny kisses down my spine.

Hoooooooooly crap.

I groan, and he chuckles. "Too much?"

"You're messing with my head," I complain. "I got me a _devious_ Protectobot." I may grumble, but I'm smiling.

"I aim to please," he murmurs, hands running down my sides. "And I wanted to prove how much I missed you." A slight hesitation. "I was nervous about the kind of reception I'd get when we got back."

Now that makes no sense. I turn, sit up on the sofa. "Nervous? Why?"

He shrugs, sits down next to me. "I didn't know if you…" A deep breath. "If you regretted that kiss or not."

I blink.

Apparently, he feels the need to explain that further. "You know, because sometimes people do desperate things when saying goodbye in case it's forever. And I wasn't sure whether you kissed me because you actually meant it or simply because it was possibly your last chance of doing so." A duck of the head, beautiful blue eyes looking up at me through long eyelashes.

"Huh." I purse my lips. "I'm not going to lie; I scared myself to death doing that. It was a very impulsive thing to do."

He looks down at that, frowning slightly.

I don't want him to frown.

I lift my hand, trace the planes of his face with my fingers for the very first time. The curve of his cheek, the straight line of his nose, the soft eyebrows. My thumb gently caresses the smooth lower lip.

"I'm probably one of the thickest humans you've ever met," I say quietly. "It took me forever to realize what was going on. Not to mention about 257 viewings of the footage Rewind got of us at the Halloween party." He snorts at that, one side of his mouth pulling up in a half-smile, but he's still not looking at me.

So I crawl up into his lap. Why not, right? It's not like I haven't wanted to for the last hour, ever since we came back to my flat.

"I stopped regretting it before the planes had even taken off. Before you'd even followed Jazz into that cargo hold."

At that, he finally lifts his gaze, meeting my eyes. "You were there? I didn't see you."

"I was hiding," I confess, biting my lip and smiling slightly. "I was afraid to come down. So I watched from the hilltop."

Hands are raised to rest on my waist. "I'm a bit glad, actually. I'm not sure how easy it would have been to leave if you'd been standing there, looking at me." He leans towards me and rests his forehead against mine. "You really don't regret it?"

"I really don't," I whisper, smiling against his lips. "Promise."

So he kisses me again. Pulling me close until I'm flush against his chest, cupping the back of my head with his hand, tongue pressing gently against my lower lip. I melt against him, hands stroking shoulders, neck, that beautiful face.

I simply can't get close enough.

One of First Aid's hands slide down to my lower back, finding bare skin where my shirt's slid up. I gasp into the kiss, and then suddenly his tongue is meeting mine, his lips pushing against mine fiercely, a low groan coming from his throat, and holy crap, I can't breathe right and I just can't get close enough as his arms enclose me completely, mouth exploring mine, my hands running through his soft hair and clenching on his shirt behind his shoulder.

"Isobel…" The murmur is soft against my mouth, soft hands stroking the skin of my back, and I moan against him -

And then there's a knock on the door.

I can't quite stop the growl. First Aid grins at me. He raises a finger, touches the tip of my nose. "Someone's at your door, love."

"Don't care." I growl again. "The only one that matters to me right now is already here."

_Love_. Oh, Primus.

First Aid chuckles at my tone. He leans in, presses a kiss to my forehead. "Much as I like hearing that, let me see who it is, okay? Might be important."

"Might not," I challenge, but I don't object as his strong arms lifts me off him and puts me back on the sofa. "But it better be, or I'm going to make them regret it."

First Aid shoots me a grin, and walks over to open the door.

It's Mirage.

"Ah," the darkly handsome holoform says. He looks slightly surprised at who actually opened the door. "Been replaced, I see." He turn his gaze on me, ignoring First Aid's raised eyebrows. "Hello, darling."

"Mirage," First Aid acknowledges, sounding strained.

I just nod. Mirage is so not welcome right now.

"I came by to see if you were up for a bit of fun," he says smoothly, lips curved in a small half-smile. "Though I can see that you've got that part covered."

Suddenly I feel guilty. And I can't tell if it's for my erstwhile lover who suddenly finds himself left out, or for the pale-haired holoform who's eyeing my new visitor with a mix of nervousness and disdain. But I feel like I owe Mirage a bit more than he's getting right now.

"Mirage, can we talk about this another time?"

He smirks at me as he strides past First Aid, ignoring him completely. "Now, darling, talking was never what we did."

I get up from the sofa, walking up to him. I can see First Aid looking at me from the corner of my eye. "Well, it's what we're going to be doing from now on."

Smooth fingers lift up to trace my cheekbone. "Are you sure, darling? He may be pleasant company, I suppose -" Mirage turns, eyeing First Aid deliberately, and First Aid doesn't look at all pleased "- but you and I both know there's no one that can give you quite what I can."

Okay. Guilty feeling's gone. Now I'm just mad.

"No, you're right," I agree, and both sets of eyes dart back to me, one smug, one hurt. "He can give me more." I take hold of Mirage's shoulder and turn him back towards the door. In his defense, he lets me do it. "Good night, Mirage. I'll see you."

"Yes, well. I can tell when I'm not wanted." He smirks at me again. "If you change your mind, darling, let me know. I'm available should you get tired of this … sparkling."

I all but push him out the door and slam it shut behind him.

"God." I lean my forehead against the wood finish for a moment, before turning back to First Aid. "I'm so sorry about that."

He shrugs. "Mirage is an aft. That's not new. A charming aft, but an aft nonetheless."

"What does that say about me, I wonder," I sigh, leaning against the door. "Since I let myself be charmed."

"It didn't mean anything, though, did it?" He tilts his head, a hopeful expression on his face. "It was just – physical?" The inflection of his voice makes it a question.

"Yeah." I snort and shake my head. "Mirage never even talks to me in public." I duck my head, look up at him. "You okay?"

"Yes. Are you?" He stretches out a hand towards me, and I take it, letting him pull me flush against him gratefully. His other hand is stroking my back softly. "Not regretting your choice?"

I pull back so I can see his face. He's frowning again. "My choice to throw Mirage out and keep you? Absolutely not."

It seems that was not enough, though. That frown is still there, eyebrows pulled down over those mesmerizing eyes. I reach up, place my fingers against the furrow on his forehead.

"Tell me what you're thinking?"

He sighs. "I'm just… I don't know. Worried that it's too good to be true."

I smile a bit at that. "And here I thought that was my line. I don't think you realize what a catch you are." I rest my forehead against his shoulder. "What can I do to make you stop worrying?"

He grins, one finger lifting my chin up until I'm looking into his eyes. "Let me kiss you again?"

Like I'm going to say no to that! Instead, I simply put my arms around his neck and press my lips against his.

I love how he's the perfect height compared to me, just tall enough that I have to tilt my head up but not so tall that I have to strain to reach him. I love how those warm hands slide up my back, pulling me close, and how his shoulders are wide enough to support my arms as I cling to him. The way his mouth moves against mine – insistent, asking, but not pushing, never commanding.

There's no doubt in my mind or in my body that I was right to push Mirage out the door.

And then First Aid breaks the kiss suddenly, face pulling away from mine. I'm about to protest, until I see the look on his face.

Well, I guess his brothers are part of the package.

"I'm sorry, love," he says, pressing a kiss against my forehead. "I have to go. Hot Spot wants me – we need to talk over the duty rosters before everyone goes to recharge."

I smile, pushing into the touch. "I guess I'll have to learn to share you."

Arms tighten momentarily around me. Then – "Do you want to meet them?"

Um, no. No, not without a lot of prepping, and preferably in public where I know they have to behave, and definitely not without talking things over with First Aid first. I'm not going to walk into that without at least having an inkling of what they think about this.

"Yeah, but let's save it until we're all a bit more awake, okay?" I smile and stand on tiptoes to kiss the tip of his nose. "Also, it's not fair to bring your girlfriend to a family gathering unless the family's been consulted first. And I don't want to disturb your duty talk – you need to rest, Aid, and if I'm there things will just take that much longer."

I'm laying it on a bit thick, I realize. Thankfully, he doesn't seem to notice.

"I guess you're right," he murmurs, peppering my jaw and mouth with tiny kisses. "You're just so hard to leave."

"Hey, you left for two weeks. You can manage leaving for one night." I smile to take the sting off the words, and lean against his chest. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes. I have the first shift with Ratchet, but I'll meet you after that, okay?"

"I'll be waiting."

Soft lips press gently against mine again, long fingers playing with my hair. He releases me and takes a step back, only to groan and embrace me again for another kiss. This one's deeper, and my legs give way again – that's going to become embarrassing at some point – and First Aid takes all my weight, holding me as close as physically possible.

"Not that I object to this treatment," I murmur finally as his lips move away, "but unless you leave, they will at some point come and look for you."

He grins at that. "Hm. I'd say 'let them', but I think you're right – we'll save the introductions for another day. Blades gets cranky when he's tired." He lifts a hand to my cheek, rubs his thumb across my lips.

I press a kiss to his questing finger. "I will see you tomorrow. Now go, talk to your brothers." I grin at the obvious reluctance on his face. "Go!"

"Okay, love. I'll leave," he smirks, then leans in abruptly to plant a quick kiss on my lips. "You're beautiful. I'm going to sweep you off your feet tomorrow."

"My feet are already swept away," I complain, "that's why you've been supporting me a lot tonight. Now go, so a girl can get some recharge!"

"Heh. Recharge. We're rubbing off on you." Another quick kiss, to my nasal ridge this time. "Night, love."

Then he vanishes, blue sparks clinging to my skin before they fade. I can hear the ambulance driving away outside.

I sink to the floor, legs refusing to carry me. Oh my God.

* * *

_Oh my God. That got real serious real fast. I can't believe it._

_Hi, I'm Isobel. I'm dating an alien. And I might be in love with him. Oh, and did I mention he's actually a giant robot who turns into a car at will? And his human form is made out of solid light._

_And he lives hundreds of times longer than humans._

_I don't want to think about that._

_His brothers might dislike me. I don't want to think about that either. Anyway, that can be sorted out. We can work it out._

_I still haven't heard a word of those plans Bumblebee mentioned that included me. I guess it doesn't matter at this point, since I made new plans. We'll see._

_I'm also a bit excited to see how this thing between Bluestreak and Fireflight evolves. Now that's cuteness._

_I'm dead on my feet. I guess I'll have to cart myself off to bed since First Aid's not here to do it for me._

_Um._

_Okay, that's not going to help me sleep much._

_Bad brain._

_Bad, bad brain._

_Damn it. Changing tracks now._

_I have to figure out what to get the Autobots for Christmas. I definitely want to get First Aid something. And Bee and Blue. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, too, and Optimus. Arcee, Blaster, Rewind and Eject. Jazz and Prowl. Ratchet, I guess, so he doesn't feel left out, and maybe Wheeljack._

_Mirage?_

_I'll have to think about that._

_What the heck do you buy alien robots for Christmas? Their tech is more advanced, they won't fit into any of our clothing, they've already internalized a lot of what we still think of as fancy gadgets, and they have no need for food or drink. Also, there's the whole need for secrecy, so getting something custom made is going to be tricky. Plus, I'm on an army base in the middle of the ocean, so the shopping possibilities are somewhat limited – unless I can manage to score some shore leave, I'm stuck with what can be delivered._

_I can get Eject some sports memorabilia or something, I guess. And I did promise to bury Bumblebee in rom-coms, but I'm not sure he'll appreciate that. Sunstreaker probably knows better than me what kind of art supplies that is the good kind, but maybe I can find something he wouldn't expect. Like a Buddha board or something. Come to think of it, that might actually be great for him. Mindfulness and all that. And I think I want to get Optimus the Confucius Speaks comic books._

_I wonder what Sideswipe would say to getting fuzzy car dice. That would be hilarious._

_Okay. Bed now. Before my brain goes even further downhill._


	15. Close encounters

_My brain did not stop going downhill at the fuzzy dice. I wish. Apparently, kissing First Aid opened the proverbial floodgates and I've been tossing and turning half the night. I felt like Eliza Doolittle – bed? I couldn't go to bed, my head's too light to try to settle down. Helpful._

_And when I finally did fall asleep… Let's say it like this, I've never woken up more hot and bothered in my life. Ever._

_Anyway, I'm going to take my breakfast over to the Energon mess hall today. Hopefully someone's there. There are way too many friends I haven't talked to in weeks. And I need something to occupy my mind before I'm meeting First Aid, or I might as well spend all day in the shower._

_But first I'm going to talk to Optimus regarding shore leave._

* * *

I've never been to the Prime's office before. It's surprisingly unassuming from the outside – a hangar door like all the others, leading into a building that's identical to the rest. Inside, the space is sub-divided much like Jazz and Prowl's living space, and I walk past four doors, two on each side, before I get to the giant door in the end.

It feels ridiculous to knock on a door that I barely reach halfway to the handle of. I feel like Alice after the Drink Me-potion.

Still, I knock, and I hear Optimus answering from the inside, telling me to enter.

Um. Did not think this through.

"Thanks, Optimus," I reply, eyeing the door. "How?"

"Isobel?" The door slides open on its own. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I hope I'm not intruding on your day off. Didn't know if you would be here, since it's Saturday." I wander inside, looking around curiously. "I came to ask for a favor, actually."

"I don't have days off," he replies, smiling. "Only hours." He kneels down so I can climb unto his palm. It feels strange – I've done this with Bumblebee, Arcee, a few of the others, but Optimus Prime is so much bigger than them. I can sit in his palm comfortably. He raises me to eye height – or optic height, I guess. "What can I do for you?"

I smile. "You know, I know a certain medical officer who'd have a wrench to shake at you if he heard that."

Optimus chuckles. "Ratchet is as bad as I am. I have told him that I'll take a full day off the day he does."

"Has it worked so far?" I ask curiously. Somehow, I don't quite see Ratchet responding to blackmail.

"No. Not even with the added promise – or threat, I suppose, it can be construed as both - that we could spend the day together." He shakes his head ruefully. "Then again, he's resisting my advances to the point where he's almost ignoring me altogether, so I don't know why I expected that to work."

"You seemed to be doing okay on the Halloween party," I point out. "I saw you two holding hands."

"Yes. But then we spent two weeks in a very tense situation. Now he doesn't see himself as a fit cohort to a Prime. He thinks I'm settling for someone beneath my station, and he doesn't want me to. Not that I have any choice – being Prime, every single Cybertronian is beneath my station. As if I care about that." He frowns, looking at me. "Does it make sense if I say that I sometimes wish I wasn't Prime?"

I nod sympathetically. "Unfortunately, it does. Just – keep working in on it, Optimus. You'll get through to him at some point."

"Yes, I hope so." Then he smirks at me. Optimus Prime. Smirking. Now that's a disturbing image. "It certainly seems to have worked for you and First Aid."

I stare at him in surprise. How fast do rumours actually travel on this island? The speed of thought?

He chuckles at my look. "Don't worry, not everybody knows yet. I just happen to work with both Jazz, Ratchet _and_ Red Alert on a daily basis. It was inevitable that I learn of it, really." He puts me down on the desk and sits down on his chair, leaning down so he's not towering over me so much. "Anyway, I doubt the favour you came to ask has anything to do with Ratchet and myself."

I chuckle at that. "No, you're right, it doesn't." I tilt my head, look up at him. "You're not my commanding officer, so technically you can't approve of this. Only Lennox can do that. But since I seem to have wormed my way into the Autobot inner circle –"

"Not the phrase I would use," Optimus interjects, "but go on, please."

"… Yeah. Anyway, I figured you needed to sign off on this as well, since my head is full of classified information."

"All right," he says, nodding. "And this thing that I need to sign off on is?"

I shrug, grin at him. "I want to take a week's shore leave before Christmas. I want to buy everyone Christmas presents."

He leans back. "That's nice of you, Isobel, but you don't have to do that. We don't really celebrate Christmas except as a chance to wind down and have some fun."

I quirk an eyebrow at him. "I didn't say 'everyone needs me to get them a Christmas present'. I said 'I want to buy everyone Christmas presents'. It's something _I_ want to do, Optimus, regardless of what you actually celebrate."

He smiles slightly at that. "Far be it from me to deny you that, Isobel. Where did you want to go?"

"London," I reply, grinning. "London has everything I need."

"If Lennox approves, I have no objections," Optimus says. He holds up a metal finger. "I reserve the right to send an Autobot or two with you at my discretion."

"That's fine," I nod. "I'd appreciate the company, actually."

"Good," he smiles. "Then it's settled. Talk to Lennox and let me know."

I nod as he picks me back up and deposits me on the floor. "Thanks. Oh, and Optimus?"

"Yes?" He cants his head, looks at me.

"Don't let him grouch you off," I grin. "It's worth fighting for."

"Yes," he chuckles, "I know."

Then the door closes behind me.

* * *

I've brought my breakfast to the Autobot mess hall, as planned. It was empty when I arrived, but then they started filing in, alone, in pairs, in larger groups. Jazz was the first to join me at my table – as in, the table I was sitting on, not at – holding up a finger to stop me talking to him and looking more than half in recharge still. Sunstreaker wandered in after him, muttering about his brother relieving him on monitor duty, and then Bluestreak dumps down in the seat in front of me. He's the first one I've seen in here today who looks bright and chipper.

"Morning, Isobel!" If that grin was any wider, the top of his head would fall off.

"Morning, Bluestreak! You're bright-eyed and beaming today!" I tilt my head, quirk an eyebrow at him. "Did you have fun showing Fireflight around base yesterday?"

Jazz is smirking at us. Thankfully, the young sniper doesn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, it was nice," Bluestreak gushes. "'Flight's a lot of fun, he's interested in everything and he asks so many questions and he listens when I reply even if I kind of go off track and forget what he actually asked about. And that happened. A lot. And he didn't seem to mind either! He said it was cute!" Bluestreak is practically vibrating. He's completely adorable. And then grin fades. "I wish I could take him on a real date."

I smile at him, trying to ignore Sunstreaker's arrogant grin and Jazz's silent chuckles. The TIC's shoulders are shaking with laughter. "And why can't you take him on a real date, Bluestreak?"

He waves a hand, somehow taking in the entirety of what's around us. "But we're on a military base. An army installation. It's not exactly a dating hot spot, if you know what I mean. Unless Bumblebee sets up another movie night or something."

"True, it's not exactly a prime clubbing scene," I concede. "But you'd be hard pressed to find a better romantic location. This island is pretty much the epitome of human romantic ideas." I grin at the incredulous look I'm getting from sniper and frontliner. Jazz, interestingly enough, seems to know what I'm talking about. "Come on, can't you see it? Beautiful blue seas, long walks on the beach, the turtles in the lagoon… Many humans would pay a fortune for that kind of dating scene."

Bluestreak looks surprised, then he grins. "I didn't think about that."

"Just take him for a walk around the island," I nod, cradling my coffee mug. "It's really very beautiful, lots of wildlife too. Birds and reptiles and things. And, hey," I grin, suddenly remembering, "you might even see some of your own wildlife."

Bluestreak stares at me. Jazz, too – his gaze is suddenly eerily focused and sharp, all trace of recharge gone. Sunstreaker's a frozen mask.

"Our… own wildlife?" Bluestreak asks, looking puzzled. "What do you mean, Isobel?"

"Oh, I saw a Cybertronian bird," I reply. "Or I assume it was, anyway – it was big, and made of metal. I thought it must have snuck aboard your transports somehow and made it to Earth, because there's no way it's… native…" My words trail off as I notice the looks of the 'Bots around me. Not just at my table, either – I can see Inferno staring at me, frowning, from the next table over, and Chromia's over by the Energon dispenser, frozen with her cube halfway to her mouth. "What's wrong? Why are you all looking at me like that?"

"Isobel, can ya describe this bird?" Jazz asks intently.

"Dark head, red and grey wings, purple blotches here and there, bigger than me and smaller than Rewind," I reply. "Jazz, what's going on?"

"When didya see it?"

"Friday last week." I frown. "I was out jogging, tripped on a tree branch, took a tumble off the path. It was sitting in the base of a dell, sleeping. Jazz, tell me. What's going on? Why are you all freaking?"

"Laserbeak," Sunstreaker grunts, as if that should tell me something.

Jazz nods. "Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, take Bumblebee and Arcee, get Isobel to pinpoint where she was and go there. We ain't had a whiff of a presence since we came back, that don't mean it's not there. Get us someone to interrogate if possible. If not, terminated's better'n escapin'. We don't know what kinda intel she's sittin' on."

I just look from one to the other as they spring into action around me. Nothing they've said so far makes any sense. "Jazz?"

"Come wi' me, sweetspark."

He picks me up without further ado, carrying me out the door and transforming around me until I'm in the front seat of a silver sports car, speeding down towards the center of the base and the hangar affectionately known as Command.

"Jazz?" I'm getting nervous now.

"Laserbeak's a Decepticon, sweetspark," Jazz says from the speakers. "One of Soundwave's cassettes. Probably sent here to spy on us, so I need to talk to Prowler and Red. That's where we're goin' now."

I lean back in the seat, trying to digest that.

Wait.

Wait, no, what the hell!?

"That bird was a _Decepticon_?" I gasp. "But… But it was a _bird_!"

"All shapes and sizes, sweetspark," Jazz replied. "Laserbeak's a pain in the aft, often used for infiltration an' spy missions."

A Decepticon.

I was face to face – face to wing, anyway – with a Decepticon.

The implications take some time to sink in, but when they do…

"Um. Jazz? Are you saying – am I –" I take a deep breath. "Jazz, am I lucky to be alive?"

There's silence.

"Yeah, sweetspark," he says finally. "Yeah, ya are."

* * *

I sit on a desk, knees pulled up to my chest and arms around my legs, while chaos is happening around me. I barely notice. It's like their voices are underwater, or I am. Distantly, I'm recognizing some sort of psychological freak-out, but aside from keeping my breathing level and slow, I can't seem to do anything about it.

Prowl is in front of me, near a monitor where a map of Diego Garcia is visible. Red Alert, tall, red and white and intimidating, is standing near a set of six monitors, metal fingers dancing over control pads and focus darting from one screen to the other. Jazz is focused on yet another monitor, and Prime is pacing.

I force myself to take another deep breath.

"Sunstreaker says they found her hideout," Jazz says from his chair in front of me. "But not her."

"She's probably still on the island. She can't have enough energy reserves to get back to her master," Prime says.

"Unless her master's closer than we anticipate," Red Alert mumbles.

"He was in California," Prowl says distantly, his focus on whatever he's doing. "Mudflap and Skids tangled with him, and Rumble and Frenzy were there as well."

"Makin' more trouble than they're wort, as usual," Jazz snorts. "My guess is that Skywarp or one of the other Seekers dropped Laserbeak off here before we went to California, and then we grounded 'em badly enough that they haven't been able to pick her back up. She might've fallen into stasis lock for all we know."

"That would be more helpful than I dare to expect," Red Alert snorts.

Another deep breath. Easy, Isobel.

There's silence for a few moments. Then – "Target acquired. Bluestreak, take the shot at will."

"She airborne?" Jazz asks.

"Affirmative," Prowl replies. "Bluestreak hit her, and she's spiralling. They're going to the impact site."

"I've alerted Ratchet," Red Alert says, "and I'll have Inferno prep the brig for a bolt-sized prisoner."

"Have Ratchet report here first," Prime says. "I want his opinion."

I'm trying to concentrate to the conversation going on quite literally over my head, but it's hard. I can't seem to focus properly. The part of me that is usually paying attention to the world is busy making me take deep breaths every once in a while. That's more than enough for me right now. The rest of my mind… Well…

I could have been killed. If Laserbeak had been awake, she (apparently – I've understood that much, at least) would have killed me. And not because I'm me. That doesn't matter. She would have killed me because I'm human. Because it would have been easy. Because she _could_.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I tighten my arms around my legs.

"They have her," Prowl announces. "Sunstreaker's got her restrained."

"That prob'ly means Ratch'll need to cut 'er out of about a mile o' duct tape," Jazz grins.

"No less than she deserves," Red Alert grunts. "Also, we're running low on duct tape."

"So you got her?"

That's a new voice, enough to pull me out of my stupor. I look around without moving my head, to see Lennox standing on the floor.

"We have her," Prowl confirms.

"Good," the colonel nods. "I'll inform the troops. We'll need to up the defense with her in here."

"That is true. I've increased patrols already," Prime agrees. "By the way, colonel, did Isobel talk to you yet? About the trip she wanted to take to London?"

"No, she didn't," Lennox replies. He looks up, sees me sitting on the desk. "You do know she's sitting right there, right?"

Prime turns to me, startled. So does Prowl.

I'll be damned. They actually forgot about me.

Well, that does wonders for my self-esteem. It's not like I'm sitting on top of a desk in the middle of the room within sight of all four of them.

Oh yeah. That's exactly where I am.

"She doesn't look too good, either," Lennox comments. "Isobel? Are you okay?"

… I'm not going to dignify that with a reply. Or, I would, if I could remember how to speak. Half of my mind is still spinning around the thought that I should actually be dead, the other half is snarking about being forgotten by the four 'Bots around me. I'm barely remembering my deep breathing, here.

"Ratchet's on his way," Red Alert says.

Jazz transforms, and his holoform appears in front of me. "Isobel? You okay, sweetspark?"

A cool hand on my forehead. Visored visage in front of my eyes – he's trying to get me to look at him, I think, but I've forgotten where the button is for making my eyes focus. When I finally do manage, he's already looked away.

"What's wrong?" Prime sounds anxious. A small part of my mind focuses enough to think that it serves him right for forgetting about me.

"I dunno," Jazz replies, frowning. "I'm not a medic."

"Well, I am," a grumpy voice says. "What did you do to her this time?"

"They forgot about her," Lennox says, sounding a bit astounded.

"They what?" Ratchet's bright head replaces Jazz's holoform in front of me. A bright light shines into my eyes. "Isobel? Can you hear me, sparklet?" Fingers probe my hands and legs, try to loosen the hold of my arms. "Acute stress reaction, looks like. Her systems aren't responding." He straightens, aims a stare with all his considerable focus behind it at Prime. "You _forgot_ about her? What does that even mean?"

Acute stress reaction. Yeah, that sounds about right. I focus on my breathing again, as much as I can.

"Jazz brought her here to keep her at hand while we settled the Laserbeak matter," Prowl replies. "She's been so quiet that I guess we forgot that she was here." At least he has the grace to sound sheepish.

"So you didn't start to worry when she was this quiet?" A gentle, neon-coloured hand picks me up, in sharp contrast with the harsh tones. "Has she even said a word since you brought her in here?"

Silence. I would be quiet too, if Ratchet had grouched at me like that.

"She nodded once," Red Alert offered. "I think."

"You think." Ratchet's voice is low, monotonous. Furious. "What about before you brought her in here? Jazz?"

"She was fine at first," the TIC replies, sounding embarrassed. "We were talkin' 'bout Laserbeak. Isobel asked if she was lucky to be alive. I said she was."

There's a sharp clang and a yelp. It startles me enough that I manage to turn my head and look up. At the wrench Ratchet is brandishing at a wincing Jazz. I almost feel like giggling. "You slagging, self-absorbed, pit-spawned morons!" Ratchet's shouting. "Dropping something like that on her, then leaving her alone and forgetting about her? I ought to reformat the lot of you into human cooktops!" He shakes his head. "I'm taking her back to med bay. You can come see her there if you need her." A low string of creative cursing follows the words – I catch phrases like 'aft-headed glitches', 'helms up your exhaust pipes' and 'Primus' waste tank', but most of it goes right over my head.

"I'm okay, Ratchet," I whisper, but he doesn't hear me.

"Ratchet, they're bringing Laserbeak to med bay," Prowl interjects.

"Then I'll deal with her too. Guess you want her fit for interrogating?" He cradles me close; I can feel the thrum of his spark through his chest armor. It's nice. "I will comm you when the birdbrain's ready. Some on, sparklet." His tone softens. "You're all right. Just come with me."

* * *

Back at med bay, Ratchet hands me over to another pair of arms.

"Here, you take her. I've got to prep for birdbrain's arrival."

"Isobel? What happened to her?" I know that voice. That voice is safety.

"I'm okay," I say again, a bit louder this time. "I'll be fine."

"She had a bit of a shock," Ratchet grumbles. "Apparently, she stumbled upon Laserbeak while running last week and only now realized that she could have been killed." He snorts, a heavy, strange sound. "And then the morons at command manage to forget about her for at least an hour, leaving her to run all the scenarios in her head."

The metal arms tighten around me. "Isobel?"

"I'm okay!" I nearly shout. "Enough talking about me like I'm not here! I'm done freaking, I promise."

Ratchet pauses, looking at me. Then he chuckles. "Good for you. Make them pay for forgetting you, though, won't you? A wrench to head is just not enough punishment for that. They should all of them know better."

First Aid lifts me up to eye height. "You sure you're okay, love?"

"I'm getting there," I nod. I'm still feeling a bit – off. "Just give me a few moments."

"Well, we don't have a few moments," Ratchet interjects from behind me. "Sunstreaker's coming in hot with Laserbeak. I'd estimate he'll be here – oh, about now."

I can hear the high-tuned engine and the squeal of tires outside, and I know he's right. Sunstreaker's just outside the door, carrying a Decepticon. A small one, granted, but a Decepticon nonetheless.

"Will you be okay coming face to face with her again?" Ratchet asks, eyeing me. "She's out cold, as you say."

I hesitate, then nod. "Yeah, I'm good. I want to do this."

"Good girl," the medic nods. "First Aid, put Isobel down here and get the solvent. We'll need it."

"Duct tape again?" First Aid sighs as he places me at one end of a large steel table.

"You know it."

Sunstreaker comes waltzing in at that moment, looking shiny and arrogant and smug. "One Decepticreep cassette, as ordered." He drops a tape-wrapped bundle that's bigger than I am onto the table I'm sitting on.

"Sunstreaker, you glitch!" Ratchet curses. "You've taped up her vents! She's overheating!" He takes out a scalpel that's the size of my leg and starts cutting into the tape.

The golden frontliner shrugs. "I didn't tape up all of them. Besides, what does it matter? She's just a 'Con, and you know she won't tell us anything anyway, so if she offlines… No great loss, right?"

That attitude is chilling. I didn't know Sunstreaker was that devoid of mercy. Guess he hasn't shown me that side before. He might not have meant to show it to me now - I'm not sure he even notices I'm here.

Ratchet seems to agree with me, based on the number of tools that are suddenly pelted at the golden twin's head. "You – fragging – pit-spawned – get out! Out! Report to Prowl!"

One hand's throwing wrenches, the other's carefully cutting into the tape. Ratchet must be a demon at compartmentalizing.

First Aid comes back, starts cutting away tape without a word. There's an urgency to their movement.

I dare to ask. "Ratchet, what happens if she overheats?"

"If she can't cool her processor down, she could sustain permanent injury," First Aid replies. "It may even kill her. It's a good thing she's so small. If someone had taped up Sunstreaker like this, we could have already been fighting to save his life."

The tape comes off in pieces, reluctantly. They cut, pull some of the tape away, spray some form of liquid underneath, pull away more. It's almost hypnotizing.

"Damn her feather sensors," Ratchet grumbles, taking a break to connect the bird form to monitors and something that looks suspiciously like IVs. "And damn Sunstreaker."

"He didn't turn the tape for the inner layer, did he?" First Aid says quietly.

"No, and I'm having trouble getting her feathers clean. Isobel, come here."

I stand up, walk closer to them. "Yes?"

Ratchet pours some of the liquid into a small beaker – tiny for him, tub-sized for me. Then he slices a sponge into pieces that are small enough for me to handle.

"This is a solvent. Not harmful to you, but it will loosen the tape. You see these?" Ratchet points at one wing. It's covered with blade-like strips of metal. "These are sensor panels, designed for everything from gauging air pressure in flight to spy work. I need them cleaned. If you can to that, then I can move on to her body and try to find where the pit she's leaking from." I suddenly notice a lot of the tape is soaked in fluid.

I nod, picking up a palm-sized sponge. "I can do that." I can. It's just washing, right? Nothing to it.

I soon loose myself in my task. These feather sensors are amazing. The structure of each is different – some are ridged, some have tiny wires going across them, some are smooth, and one panel is covered in tiny glyphs. I wash each sensor panel carefully, and then move on to the other wing without prompting.

As I move, I glance up at her head. Laserbeak's staring at me. Her optics are red.

I freeze. "Um. Ratchet?"

"What? Oh." He touches a few spots on the Decepticon's head and neck. "Don't worry. I have her on medical overlock. She's fighting it – Soundwave's cassettes always do – but she can't move and she's not in pain."

"Is she aware? Can she see me?"

"See you and hear you, I shouldn't wonder," Ratchet grumbles. "It's her function, you know. So you better watch what you say!"

He says it in a joking tone, but I get the serious warning behind it. Anything Laserbeak sees and hears will make it back to the Decepticons. So no spilling of secrets.

Ratchet peels away a layer of fluid-soaked duct tape. "Slaggit, there it is. See it?"

"I see it," First Aid confirms. "Isobel, move aside please."

I drag my sponges and my tub up to Laserbeak's head. She still has tape pieces sticking to her beak and neck.

"You can remove those, Isobel," Ratchet says, all focus on what his hands are doing. "All the tape needs to come off."

I nod, soaking my sponge again. That red optic is following me. It's unnerving – and I suddenly realize why. I'm going at this all wrong, for me.

"Hi, Laserbeak," I murmur. "I'm going to help you get that tape off, okay? I don't know how sensitive your surface metal is, but it has to itch, doesn't it. Sunstreaker went a bit overboard." I pull the sponge slowly across her beak, getting rid of the tape residue. "I didn't know cassettes came in bird form," I say conversationally. "It's fascinating that you would have a form that's so similar to wildlife on Earth. You know, since you're from a galaxy far, far away." I grin a bit at my own words. "Come to think of it, it makes no sense that the others would be bipedal, either. It's not the most efficient form. The only good thing it does is free our hands. Which, when I think of it, is kind of a big step. So maybe it's not that weird." I move on to her throat and neck. Her neck is all interlocking plates, but her throat is cabling, and the tape residue is everywhere. "Oh, wow. Sunstreaker must have gone through several rolls of tape. Good thing I have tiny hands. And good thing the doc's numbed you, too, or this would be really annoying, I guess."

I drag the sponge across the wires and cables. Behind me, I can hear the two medics talking shop, pointing out leaks and broken lines. I continue to channel my inner Bluestreak in soft, quiet tones. "I actually thought you were an albatross, at first. Because you're so big, compared to Earth birds. I'm glad you're not. Getting duct tape off of real feathers would be a nightmare."

Ratchet snorts at that, and I grin.

"Then again, an albatross wouldn't be a Decepticon. So I guess the scenario makes no sense anyway." I move on, moving the sponge up the side of her head. Her optic's still focused on me, but now it's half-closed.

"At least he didn't put tape over your optics," I comment. "That would have caused so much trouble. I'm going to wash around them, though, okay?" Very carefully, I pull the sponge through the crevices around her optics, making sure to not get solvent in her eyes.

"Man, your paint job needs some work," I comment, eyeing the pitting and scratches that are revealed under the residue and grime. "You've had a rough week, haven't you? Maybe we should get Sunstreaker to fix your detailing. You know, as punishment. Lots and lots of finicky details, so it should take him a while, since he's such a perfectionist. It would be no less than he deserves."

"There," Ratchet says with satisfaction. "That's the last leak. Status?"

First Aid glances at the monitors. "Stable. Actually, sir, you should look."

Ratchet twists to look. Then he grins. "Stable and relaxed. Wow. You talking her into recharge there, Isobel?"

"Don't mind him," I grin at the red optics. "Ratchet is just jealous that my bedside manner is better than his."

The neon-coloured medic guffaws loudly at that. "Well, since you two are doing so well, I'll let you finish here. First Aid, I'll inspect your work afterwards."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

It takes the better part of two hours before Laserbeak is both clean and repaired. My throat is sore because of all the talking, and I'm getting hungrier than what is healthy, but at least we're done.

I look over the Decepticon on the metal table. First Aid's turned her around to let me get at her back, and though she's still sedated she's not in the overlock thing anymore, so she's carrying her own weight.

"Looks good," I conclude, stopping in front of First Aid. "You know, Laserbeak, I'll bet you're a sight to see when your detailing's in order."

Ratchet snorts. "Don't let Red Alert hear you say that. He'd rather we'd seen the last of her. Anyway, Jazz is coming to take her to the brig." He smirks at me. "And Prowl's ordered Sunny to fix her detailing."

I grin, putting a hand on the Decepticon's wing. I've lost all my fear of this one – it's probably not healthy at all. "See, there you go! You'll be gorgeous again in no time."

Ratchet shakes his head with a wry grin. "First Aid, take this soft-hearted human out of here, will you? Must be approaching dinner time for her anyway."

"Yes, sir." First Aid picks me up and transforms around me, much like Jazz did earlier today. I end up in the front seat as he speeds out the door and around the corner of the building.

"Where's the fire?" I giggle, as the seatbelt fastens around me.

"I'm stealing you away," First Aid replies smugly. "My brothers threatened to corner us as we came out of med bay, but I'm not quite ready to share you yet. So we're going to get you some food and me some Energon, and then we'll see."

"Ooh, hideaway," I grin. "Sounds fun."

I'm also thrilled by the fact that he doesn't want to share me yet. At this point, I want nothing more than to sneak off with First Aid for the rest of the day. Or the weekend. Maybe the month.

Wow, I've got it bad.

First Aid stops suddenly outside the human mess hall. "Run inside, love," he says, the grin very apparent in his voice. "I'm waiting for you, okay?"

I giggle. "I'll be quick."

And I am. I don't think I've ever picked up my food that fast before. And when we dash inside their mess hall for First Aid to get a cube of Energon, he pretty much places me on top of the dispenser and then grabs me as soon as he's subspaced his cube, transforming on the fly with me again and taking off, laughing all the while.

His laughter is carefree, light, and really infectious. I'm laughing along with him as he races across the tarmac between the buildings, past a confused-looking Ironhide and a grinning Bumblebee who gives us the thumbs-up as we dash past him.

"Where are we going?"

"I have no idea!" First Aid's chuckling. "Away, does that sound good?"

"Away sounds great," I grin, snuggling in against the seat back. "Wherever you want, Aid."

We end up on the northern end of the island, on a strip of sandy beach that reaches out into the ocean. Across the water, I can see the corresponding tip of land that belongs to the East side of the island.

"This is pretty," First Aid comments, transforming around me. "Would you eat dinner with me here?"

I grin. "Absolutely. I thought you'd never ask."

First Aid downs his Energon quickly, then transforms back down. I haven't even walked ten steps down the beach before his arms are suddenly around me, his mouth pressed against my neck. "Hello, love."

I twist in his arms, grinning. I seem to be grinning a lot lately. "Hey, handsome. Fancy meeting you here."

"I know. I followed this beautiful creature out here."

"You did? Wow. Must have been a siren or mermaid or something."

A brief pause as he looks those up. "Yes, must have been." Lips press against mine, thumbs caress my cheeks. "She looked a lot like you, actually. Though you look even better up close."

"I do?" I grin, snake my arms around his neck. "Maybe you didn't look closely enough at the siren?"

"Oh, trust me," he says, smiling against my mouth. "I haven't been able to take my eyes off her since we met. Whenever we're in the same room, I can't see anything but her. Yeah, I've looked closely." He leans in close. I can feel his breath on my face. "So don't think you can escape me, love."

I gasp, a shiver running down my spine at his tone. "Well, when you put it that way… I suppose I surrender."

"Mine to do with as I please?" he says huskily, and holy crap, that tone of voice should be illegal. I can feel my heart pounding all the way from my throat to my groin, making my breathing ragged and turning my knees to jelly. First Aid's mouth is moving against my throat, pressing tiny kisses and kitten licks onto my skin, and I'm completely losing track of everything else here.

"Yes," I just gasp, clinging to his shoulders.

"There's my Isobel," he purrs, and suddenly I'm on my back in the sand. I have a brief flash of surprise at his assertiveness – up until now, he's been very gentle and careful – but it doesn't last very long under First Aid's barrage of attention. I arch my back as his hands trace patterns across my ribs, his lips and tongue tracing the curves and dips of my throat and collarbone, and when one hand takes advantage of my raised spine to push my shirt up and his face descends on my stomach, oh my God I can't breathe properly.

"You're so beautiful," he murmurs in between kisses. "The loveliest thing I ever saw."

I gasp as his lips move down below my belly button. "Aid…"

"Yes, love?" He's grinning, or smirking, rather, I can feel it against my skin.

"Aid… Hnh…"

I seem to be having a little trouble with coherency at the moment.

First Aid lifts his head and looks at me. I drown in those blue eyes, let my hands trace the planes of his beautiful face. He's stunning – I can't believe I ever thought Sunstreaker and Jazz were more handsome than First Aid, because he's the most beautiful being in the universe, inside and out. And when he smiles like that, I just come undone, seriously.

I sit up and catch his lips with my mouth. He groans, throw his arms around me and pulling me close, deepening the kiss. Suddenly his shirt is gone, and apparently, so is mine – I can't remember taking it off, but I do have a dim memory of it obscuring my vision at some point, so I guess I had help getting rid of it. First Aid's bare chest is warm and smooth, and I press myself against him eagerly, revelling in the fingers running down my back and his mouth on my bare shoulder.

And then jet engines roar overhead.

I look up to see two planes making a sharp turn above us, one red and one dark. And I suddenly remember where I am.

First Aid's looking at me questioningly. "Isobel?"

I shake my head ruefully, smiling at him. "Much as I'd love to continue this, First Aid, I'm not that comfortable out in the open like this. I really don't want half-naked images of me spread to every Autobot on base."

He snorts. "Fireflight and Skydive wouldn't do that. But I see your point." He holds op my shirt with a wicked grin. "Rain check?"

I lean in to kiss him, taking my shirt back as I do. "Just for a little while, I hope."

"Long enough for you to eat dinner?" I do not know where he pulled the Styrofoam box from, but suddenly my take-away mess hall meal is back in my lap.

I've never eaten that quickly in my life.

"Slow down, love," First Aid laughs. "We're not in a hurry."

"Oh, you're not?" I wink at him. "Not impatient? Not…" I stretch out a hand, pull my finger down his still bare chest. "… fired up?"

He groans, leaning forward to press me back against the sand. "You're irresistible."

"I'll take that as a yes, then," I giggle, nuzzling at his neck.

"Take it as a 'pit, yes'," he replies, leaning on his hands and hovering over me so I can see his face. He's smirking at me.

Then something changes in his expression. I don't have time to puzzle it out before he lowers himself and kisses me.

This kiss is different. It's not eager and driven – it's tender and sweet, and I just want it to never stop.

"Take you back to your place?" First Aid mumurs.

I nod against him. "Let's go."

* * *

First Aid is kissing me before we're even all the way through the door. I just barely manage to knock the door shut behind us before his hands are everywhere. And I do mean everywhere – my shirt vanishes again, and I'm pushed back against the wall, one leg hiked up to rest against First Aid's hip.

My Protectobot is _insistent_.

And I'm loving it.

Don't really want our first time to be up against the wall, though, so when he eases back slightly to find a new place to kiss, I grin wickedly at him and spin away. I walk towards the bedroom, turning once to make sure he's following me – wouldn't do to leave him standing by the door, and I'm still not sure if this new, passionate First Aid is at some point going to turn back into the quiet, protective, stable presence that's dominated my thoughts for the last three weeks.

But he follows, of course he does, with a predatory smirk on his handsome face, and I barely manage to escape into the bedroom before he catches me, arms around me and mouth pressed against mine. I throw myself into the kiss eagerly, arms twining around First Aid's neck, nibbling at his lower lip with my teeth.

"You're so gorgeous," he murmurs, planting kisses along my jawline. "So perfect."

"You're one to talk," I smile, letting a hand travel down the perfectly sculpted planes of his chest, the smoothly defined muscles of his stomach. I'm sure Aid could have pulled off Sunstreaker's angel costume with no problems at all. "You're so damned hot, I'm pretty much melting here."

"Oh, really?" He chuckles against my skin. "Let's take advantage of that." And then he sweeps me off my feet. Literally – he uses one of his legs to knock my feet away from under me and lifts me up effortlessly, carrying me over to the bed and putting me down gently. "Told you I would do that." He shoots me a satisfied smirk, before crawling into bed with me, legs resting between mine, weight supported by arms leaning on either side of my head.

I can't answer instantly, I'm still trying to get my body back under control. It seems to have taken the idea of First Aid in my bed and run with it.

But then First Aid leans down and kisses me again, and I just give up. I pull him close, throw my legs around his hips to keep him there, and his mouth moves down my throat to my chest as I press my hips against his, craving him.

"So sexy," he murmurs, and long fingers move across my ribs and dip in behind my back, tugging at the bra clasp. "You're so beautiful, Isobel." His fingers are nimble, but he still fumbles for a good minute before it loosens and lets him pull the offending garment all the way off. "Primus. Look at you."

I stretch my arms up over my head and smirk at him. "You like what you see?"

He just groans, and descends on my nipple. I gasp, arching into his mouth, and his hands trace down my back to tug at my jeans, one hand moving to open the buttons in front and the other cupping my butt, squeezing, and holy crap I can't breathe. I reach up and take hold of his head, lifting my hips up from the bed to let him pull my pants down, and his hand's ghosting feather touches across my stomach and I can't keep quiet or still.

First Aid's tongue traces the edge of my nipple before running down my stomach to circle my belly button. "You make the most fantastic noises, Isobel, do you know that?"

I just cry out wordlessly, hands running in his hair and hips pushing up against him. Every one of his touches leaves a trail of fire over my skin, the heat sinking down and concentrating between my legs until I wish he would just hurry up and take me already, because I'm so hot for him I'm practically evaporating here. When his mouth teasingly moves down below my belly button, I groan loudly, clenching my fists in his hair. "First Aid…!"

His hands move down to cradle my legs, and he starts pulling at my panties. With his teeth.

"First Aid, you're going to be the death of me," I gasp, trying and failing to keep my hips under control.

He chuckles quietly, and oh, does that do funny things to my body. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."

My panties vanish mysteriously. First Aid's mouth doesn't. And now I really do arch into his touch, because there's no way I can control my hips anymore, not with that heat and those hands and that tongue, oh my God, his tongue, and the gentle touches, and the insistent probing, and the sucking on that one spot –

My body explodes. I keen loudly, head thrown back and pushing into the mattress, and I seriously see stars for a moment.

Holy crap.

When I gain my focus again, First Aid's hovering above me, a very smug grin on his face. "Hello, love. Where did you vanish to?"

"Wherever you sent me," I mumble, smiling faintly. "Wow."

"Wow, indeed," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss me. "You're amazing."

"I'm not the one who knocked my socks off," I laugh quietly, returning the kiss. "Will you let me return the favor?"

He grins. "Actually… I kind of wanted to do this."

And then I can feel him entering me. He's looking at me, the first hesitant look I've seen on his face since he kidnapped me from med bay, and although I could just drown in those eyes and never come back out I don't understand that look.

I raise my hand to his cheek. "Hey, you."

"Hey, you." He lowers his head towards mine, nuzzling gently at my hair. "This okay?"

"That's what's eating you? Yeah, it's good, except for one thing."

Startled, his head jerks back up and he stares at me with wide eyes. "What? What's wrong?"

My arms slink around his neck and I pull him back down to me. I nibble at his earlobe gently, my one hand on his neck and the other exploring the strong muscles of his back. "Just this- you forgot to keep moving."

And then I throw my legs around his hips and pull him the rest of the way.

First Aid moans against my skin, hands taking hold of my shoulders, hips setting a gentle rhythm that fairly soon becomes too slow for me, even though I've already climaxed once. So I use my legs again, pulling him against me, encouraging him to set a rhythm that has both of us gasping and moaning before long. One of First Aid's hands cradle my neck, and I let my fingernails rake down his back, each touch eliciting a stifled gasp from him, making him thrust harder into me, and I pull myself tighter to him, recognizing yet again that I just can't get close enough to this mech.

When First Aid comes, with a groan against my shoulder and hands clenching against me, it sets me off again, and I can't keep back the loud moan that forces its way out.

Afterwards, neither one of us moves. I feel like I could just lie still like this forever and be perfectly content. Even though I'm sweaty and hot, even with First Aid's weight pinning me down, even with inner thigh muscles that I just know are going to be sore tomorrow – I could just stay like this.

First Aid raises his head to look at me and kiss me softly. "I love you, Isobel."

Well, there really is only one thing to say to that. And, with a flash of surprise, I realize that I can actually say it. "I love you too, First Aid."

Holy crap.


	16. Familial ties

When I wake up, there's a comforting arm slung across my body, and my legs are tangled with someone else's. I turn my head slightly to see First Aid, visorless, still deep in recharge, head resting on the pillow next to me. He looks so peaceful in his sleep, long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheek, soft mouth pouting slightly. He's adorable.

Last night comes coursing back through my mind, and I recognize the stiffness and soreness of muscle that I was expecting. It feels good, though. And waking up with him still here – I don't have the words. I could so get used to this.

Okay. Time to face the facts.

I've fallen in love with First Aid.

Even with the different species thing. Even with the fact that he's an alien robot. And the fact that he turns into a car. Heck, even with the fact that he lives longer than my entire species.

Like any of that matters.

This matters. The fact that he's here, holding me. The fact that I would like to just stay in this bed with him forever.

I'm in love with First Aid.

And First Aid loves me back.

I'm the luckiest damn human on the planet.

Especially right now, as those eyes open slowly to meet mine. First Aid's groggy, blinking slowly, until his lips curve in a small smile. "Good morning."

"Morning," I murmur back, and I just can't stop smiling. "Sleep well?"

"Yes. I think I was worn out."

I giggle at that. "You and me both. So you can recharge in holoform then?"

He nods. "Yeah, I've learned. It's useful when dealing with humans." He presses a small kiss to my nose. "Or lovers."

"Oh, am I only reaping the benefits of long years of practise with other willing females?" I'm grinning, but I'm only half-joking, and slightly terrified at his response.

First Aid lifts a hand to stroke a finger along my cheek. "I've never wanted any other female. So don't worry, love."

I snuggle up against him, tucking my head under his chin. "Wasn't worried."

A slight tremor to his body as he chuckles. "I think you were. It's okay, Isobel." He kisses my hair softly. "I love you."

Those words again. They trigger another smile, and I press a kiss to his chest. "Love you, too."

After a few moments, I pull away. "You can probably just remake your holoform in perfect condition, but I need to go do some body work, okay?" A quick tug at my hair reveals that it is exactly as tangled as I thought it would be. "I'm going to go take a shower, get presentable."

He smirks at me. "But you look so lovely right now."

I snort. "Thanks. However, I'd rather not walk around base sporting a style that says I wasn't alone last night, if you know what I mean." I twist out of the bedlinens, trying to free myself from the sheets sticking to my body and tangling with my legs. "Plus, I'm not exactly clean."

"Want me to help?"

I turn back to face him. Those blue eyes are eyeing me, gaze moving down my body and back up, and I can practically feel their path across my skin. He's biting his lower lips slightly, I don't know if he even notices.

I couldn't resist that look even if I'd wanted to.

"Give me a few minutes first, okay? Come on in when you hear the water running."

He grins. "I will."

* * *

I'm already standing under the flow of warm water when First Aid joins me. Tentative fingers stroke gently over my shoulders and down my arms before encircling my waist. I lean back towards him. "Hey, you."

"Hey yourself." Soft lips on my shoulder. "Did I tell you yet today how beautiful you are?"

"Not today," I giggle. "You may have mentioned it once or twice yesterday."

"Once or twice is hardly sufficient," he murmurs, planting tiny kisses in a line from my jawline down my throat. "You're beautiful, Isobel."

"You're biased," I smile, turning to face him. "You love me." And oh, it feels fantastic.

"That just means that my opinion matters more," he grins naughtily. Then he grabs the sponge and soap and starts washing my back.

I lean into him, my head on his shoulder. "Well, good. Because that's kind of the only opinion I really care about."

"You're used to being on your own, aren't you?"

I sigh contentedly, sore muscles relaxing under his soothing touch. "I like to think of myself as independent. Or at least I did. And then you Autobots showed up and got under my skin."

He chuckles lightly at that. "So does that mean you're ready to meet my brothers today?"

I lift my head to look at him. "I want to meet them."

Fingers take hold of my chin, tilting my head up. "But?"

I smile, exasperated. "You heard the 'but', huh?"

He kisses my forehead. "Yeah, I did. Isobel, why are you worried?"

I shrug awkwardly. "I'm afraid they won't approve of me."

Blue eyes meet mine, and smooth fingers cradle my cheek. "I don't think you need to worry about that. They'll approve. They'll like you. You just need to get to know one another."

"I guess." I notice that he says 'they'll approve'. It's an interesting choice of words. Apparently, they don't approve now. "How much have you told them, anyway?"

"I haven't told them much in words," he admits, "but they saw everything when we merged into Defensor. They know how I feel about you. There are few secrets in a gestalt." His hands move down to my hips, rubbing soapy circles over the skin. "They need some time to wrap their heads around it. And some of them are a bit jealous."

"Jealous?" I frown at that. "Why would they be jealous?" I can only reach one conclusion, and that one is truly unnerving. "Wait – you guys are not like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, are you? Are your brothers also my competition?"

He laughs loudly at that. "No, we're not split-spark, thank goodness." He kisses me deeply, turning my legs to jelly and making me lean into him. "Primus, I love you, Isobel. There's no competition. We prefer to be intimate outside of the gestalt, anyway." His left hand travels down, takes hold of my right leg and lifting it to curve around his hip.

"Well, that's a relief." I arch my back against the suddenly insistent mouth moving on my body.

And then his words sink in. "Wait, did you say pref-"

First Aid doesn't let me finish my sentence. His mouth on mine is a very effective silencer. And then it gets hard to think about anything for a while.

* * *

I'm dead nervous. I'm more nervous now than I were about meeting the Autobots in the first place. My hands are shaking so badly, I'm afraid to hold my coffee cup.

"Relax, love," First Aid says, one metal finger stroking down my bag. "They're not going to eat you."

Easy for him to say. He doesn't have to impress any of my relatives, since there are none left. _I_ have to be approved by four brothers.

When they finally walk in through the door to the mess hall, I'm about ready to faint.

"There they are," First Aid says, and now his voice is betraying some nerves as well. That's not exactly reassuring.

The first one to make his way over to our table is white and brown, with a dark face and a darker helm, and a wheel on the inside of each leg. He's followed by a grinning black and white mech with red details and a visor.

"So that's where you were hiding yesterday," the grinning one says.

I feel like I should recognize these guys from the pictures I watched with First Aid. But I'm beginning to realize that those were old photos, and these guys have changed their alt modes since then. I can tell they're not Blades or Hot Shot, though, and that certainly narrows my options.

"Groove, Streetwise, this is Isobel," First Aid says, grinning. "And I was not hiding. I was simply enjoying better company." A finger traces my back again. "Isobel, love, these are my brothers, Streetwise with the visor and Groove without it."

"It's nice to meet you," I smile tentatively. I think these two were the two blank stares I got on Tuesday.

"Hello, Isobel," Groove replies with an easy smile.

Another brother dumps down in a chair next to First Aid, passing out Energon cubes to the others. He eyes me skeptically. "So this is the distraction."

"Blades, be nice," Groove sighs.

"Hey, Blades," I nod my head at him. I remember this guy. He wasn't very polite last time we met either.

"Isobel," he nods back, still frowning. Then he tilts his head, looking at me. "I have to admit, I don't see the attraction."

Streetwise cuffs the back of his head. "Shut up. Anyway, we all know your type is tall, winged and loudmouthed. So of course you don't."

Hot Spot sits down across from Blades, handing First Aid an Energon cube. "Hello, Isobel. Nice to meet you again."

"Again?" First Aid's finger, which has been moving steadily on my back, is suddenly still.

"Isobel came by med bay on Tuesday," the eldest brother explains. "We only talked briefly."

First Aid ducks his head to look at me. "You didn't mention that you'd already met."

Well, that's because I didn't want to tell you that your brothers were rude to me. "Must have slipped my mind. A lot happened that day."

"That's the truth," Hot Spot agrees, downing half of his cube in one go. "Ratchet was shouting at _everyone_."

"The Hatchet was in a mood," Blades grins widely. "I've only seen him worse once, when Fireflight crashed into that power relay and took down all the Aerialbots in the same go, do you remember that?"

"Poor Flighty," Streetwise laughs. "He was grounded for weeks."

"Speaking of Aerialbots," Groove says, pointing. I turn to see five mechs walking towards our table, grinning at the Protectobots.

"Hey, guys," Fireflight says. He's the only one I recognize. "Room for us?"

"Yeah, sure," Blades grins. "Bring some chairs over. We were just talking about you!"

"Oh, yeah?" The mech with what looks like a miniature plane on his back grins back. "What were you saying?"

"We were talking about how Ratchet was shouting after 'Flight flew into that power relay," Groove says smugly.

Fireflight blushes. "I didn't see it, okay?"

"I've heard him worse, anyway," another of the Aerialbots chuckles. White face in a white helm, and settling down next to Hot Spot with a natural grace. "When Sides and Sunny jet judo'd Starscream and crashed him into Bluestreak and Prowl."

"Wings, doorwings and terror twins," the darkest winged mech sighs. "They'll be the bane of the Hatchet yet."

After that, it all gets a bit out of hand. With ten mechs sharing ancient history around the table, I soon lose track of the conversation. Half of the time, I have no idea what they're talking about. Since no one's talking to me, I busy myself memorizing names and faces.

Skydive is the dark mech, the one we saw flying yesterday. He seems pleasant enough, a bit quiet, a bit nerdy.

Silverbolt is the leader, apparently, tall, red-and-white and trying to keep a tight rein on the conversation. He even tries to bring me into it a few times, but whenever he manages to ask me a question one of the others butt in before I have the chance to answer. Still, it's nice of him to try, so I smile at him when he does.

That leaves Air Raid as the one with a plane on his back. He's hanging over Streetwise's shoulder, grinning at the others, constantly throwing in a joke or something in the conversation and reminding me more than a little bit of the twins. And Slingshot is the one with the golden-orange faceplate. He's grouchy and sullen and mean, and by the looks going back and forth between him and Blades I'm guessing that this is tall, winged and loudmouthed.

I don't want to be around when those two get into it. I'd bet they yell at each other as foreplay.

I finish my bagel and coffee while the conversation flows back and forth over my head. Then I sit an extra half-hour to be polite. Then, since not one of them has even looked at me for the last ten minutes, I decide that there are better uses of my time. I'd certainly prefer to be somewhere where I'm not ignored.

I stand up, and push at First Aid's hand. He, at least, didn't forget that I was here - that finger's been stroking my back the whole time.

"Isobel?" He turns from Slingshot's running commentary to look at me.

"Hey, Aid, can you give me a lift down to the floor?"

He nods, then waits until I've climbed up on his hand before raising me to eye level. "What's wrong?"

I shrug. "Nothing's wrong. It's time for me to go, is all. I have an appointment with the firing range today."

I don't, really, but all of a sudden I feel like shooting something.

"Oh. Okay then." He lifts me up to his face and nuzzles at me quickly. "Will I see you later?"

"I don't know, you probably have duty later, don't you?"

He sighs and nods. "I do. I'll see if I can come by afterwards, okay?"

I press a kiss to his thumb. "Sounds good." I turn on his palm to wave at the others. "It was nice to meet you guys. I'll see you around, okay?"

Only Groove and Silverbolt return my goodbyes. The rest of them barely notice me leaving.

* * *

_I pulverized all my targets at the range today. Sean was out on patrol, apparently, but he would have been proud if he'd seen me. My left arm was completely relaxed._

_I don't know what to think about what's going on these days. Before the Autobots went to California, I was always talking to one or the other of them, and First Aid was pretty much following me around. Now, the command staff forgets about me, the Protectobots and the Aerialbots ignore me even when I'm right there, I've only seen the twins a few times since they came back and I haven't talked to Arcee or Blaster at all. If it hadn't been for Bluestreak and Bumblebee, I'd say that every Autobot but one managed to forget about me while they were away. They seem to have settled into a new daily routine that doesn't include me._

_I'd be lying if I said I was okay with that._

_First Aid hasn't been by tonight. Ratchet's kept him working late, I'll bet. Lennox came by, though, to let me know that my London trip's been approved, and that he's taken the liberty of signing me up for formal training on the range and in hand-to-hand combat. I guess he doesn't like the idea of an unarmed civilian wandering around on a base that's under Decepticon threat._

_He also wanted to tell me that he's referred all the soldiers to me. Yeah, all of them. He wants me to talk to every soldier at least twice, and then send him a report. So now, every work slot I have is full for every week until the middle of March, barring my holiday and a few slots that are marked "Available to Autobots". I haven't had a schedule this full since I worked with civilians. It's a welcome change._

_Especially since Optimus sent me an e-mail saying that all Autobot appointments were canceled for the foreseeable future because of the Decepticon threat. So no Optimus and no Sunstreaker for me tomorrow. I was also told, respectfully, to refrain from taking hikes or runs around the island and stay on base proper from now on._

_Yay._

_I'm not sure why they consider the little – by comparison – cassette in the brig a threat. Maybe it's time I hit those files again and read up on the Decepticons. Soundwave, in particular._

* * *

There's a hand stroking my face. It's strange. I'm sure I went to bed alone.

"Hey." First Aid's lips press gently against my forehead.

"Hey," I mumble, opening my eyes. It's still dark outside, but a quick glance at my alarm reveals that I'm soon supposed to get up. "Not that it's not great waking up to you, but what are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize," he murmurs, spooning up against me. "For yesterday."

I rack my brain, trying to think of a reason why he should be sorry. I can't find it. "Apologize? For what?"

"For that truly horrible introduction scene I put you through," he sighs, hands idly stroking my stomach. "I didn't plan for the Aerialbots to show up, but it was going to pieces even before that. None of my brothers said more than two words to you."

"Oh." I think that over. It hadn't even occurred to me to blame First Aid for that. "Well, yeah. That could have gone better. But it wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known they would ignore me."

"It was my idea, though." He kisses my hair. "Tell me the truth, love. When you met Hot Spot on Tuesday, what really happened?"

Apparently, I can give up lying to First Aid. He catches it every time. "They were all waiting outside med bay," I admit. "Hot Spot introduced himself, and said it was nice of me to offer to help. But they had it all in hand in there and didn't need a human running around underfoot." I shrug. "And Blades was rude. When I asked again if they needed anything he asked if I didn't understand the word 'no'. Prowl came out and talked to me though, telling me how everyone was doing. Which was good - I needed to know that. I'd been scared for you." I pause, remembering the situation. "Come to think of it, none of them said goodbye to me when I left then either. They just stared at me."

His arms tighten around me. "I'm so sorry, Isobel. They're usually nice, I promise. I thought this would go better."

I twist in his arms, press a kiss to his bare chest. Apparently, he didn't feel the need to wear a shirt. Not that I mind at all. "Is it that unexpected, though? I'm stealing their brother."

"No, you're not." There's anger in his voice. "And I won't have you thinking this is your fault, either. You're one of the most likable people I know, even disregarding the fact that I love you. The fact that you get along with Sunstreaker _and_ Ratchet is proof of that. Pit, even Laserbeak likes you. So if my brothers can't behave, that's on them." His fingers take hold of my chin, tilting my face up to perfect kissing distance. Of course I take advantage of that.

When he pulls away again, he's frowning. One finger's running over my cheek and lower lip. "I'll talk to them again. Will you give them a second chance? Or, a third chance, I guess?"

"Of course I will." I turn my head and kiss his palm softly. "Just, not all of them at once, okay? It was very uncomfortable, having so many Autobots around me that didn't talk to me. It made me feel insignificant."

First Aid tilts my chin up again. "You are _not_ insignificant."

"I know that," I agree, "most of the time. But there's a difference between knowing something empirically and feeling something. Particularly when it comes to self-esteem. So your brothers yesterday - and the Aerialbots, for that matter – on top of the officers forgetting about me on Saturday… Well, it sucked. And I was sitting in the center of the group too, both days, you would think that makes it harder to ignore me, but I guess it's easy anyway since I'm tiny compared to you guys. And I haven't seen Arcee or Blaster since you came back, either, or talked to the twins or hung out with anyone but Bumblebee." I take a deep breath. "So, yeah. Insignificant. Sorry. I didn't mean to rant."

Talk about letting it all out at once. Poor First Aid, being at the receiving end of that.

He lifts his hand, plays with a lock of my hair. "Isobel," he sighs. "How can I prove to you that you're important?"

I smile, push into his hand. "I know I'm important to you. It's okay, Aid." I shoot a quick glance at my clock. "Actually, if you want, I think there's enough time that you can convince me…?"

I let one finger trace down his bare chest. It's all the invitation he needs.

* * *

It's nice, having a full schedule again, but I've forgotten how tiring it can be to see clients back to back. At least I had a few empty appointments, courtesy of Optimus cancelling himself and Sunstreaker, so I got to ease into it. My brain is toast. I takes me three tries to lock the office door.

And when I turn around to leave, someone's waiting for me.

"Hey there, Isobel. Mind if I join you?"

I look at the holoform with surprise. I haven't seen him before. He's tall, with the obligatory bright blue eyes and an easy grin, and his long blond hair is gathered in a messy man bun at the back of his head. With the stonewashed light jeans and a thin white t-shirt, he mostly looks like he wandered in from a sea-life conservation park or something.

It takes me a moment to realize who I'm looking at. "Oh! Hey, Groove. Um. Yeah, sure, I guess."

His grin widens. "First Aid said you were good at matching holoforms to mechs. Impressive. How do you do it?"

I shrug, fall into step next to him. "I don't know. I think it's actually more weird that someone would look at you and not know who you are. Though I guess the holoforms have to fit well for me to recognize them. I don't think I'd be able to peg that it was you if you'd shown up as a female sumo wrestler or something."

He laughs. His laugh is similar to First Aid's. "That would be a sight to see. Anyway, Isobel, I'm sorry about yesterday. We weren't very nice to you."

"It's okay. It's easy to get carried away when you're with old friends."

"That's true, but it's not an excuse," Groove points out. "First Aid set it up for us to meet and get to know you. He was very nervous about it, too." A sideways glance at me. "You mean a lot to him."

"He means a lot to me, too," I reply honestly.

"Which is why I'm hoping you'll give us another chance," Groove says, smiling. "So, join me in the mess hall? We can swing by yours first and get you some food?"

"Sure, I'd like that." I just hope the other Protectobots aren't there. And that some of the other Autobots are.

And my luck holds. Groove finds us an empty table and places me on top of it carefully. "This okay?" At my nod, he smiles. I'm coming to realize that this mech smiles easily. "Great. I'm going to get some energon."

Groove is still over by the energon dispenser when I'm assaulted. I have very little warning – one moment I'm sitting on the table top picking idly at my food, the next I'm knocked sideways by a loud whirlwind of movement that manages both to knock me off balance and keep me steady at once.

When my heart starts beating again, I realize that I know my attacker.

"Arcee?"

"Isobel!"

The blonde holoform is squealing. Literally. I can see Red Alert covering his sensor horns and wincing. I sympathize – my ears are taking a beating here.

"It's great to see you, Arcee, but could you dial it down?" I giggle. "You're kind of loud."

"Sorry," she replies, instantly calmer, but she makes up for the lack of volume by squeezing me extra hard. Which, because she's a holoform – ouch.

"Careful," I wheeze. "If you leave bruises, First Aid may dent you."

She nuzzles at my cheek. "You kidder. First Aid wouldn't dent me, he's too much of a sweetheart."

"That's true. He'll give you a Look, though. He'll be _upset_ with you." I giggle. "Ratchet, on the other hand, he may dent you. He's already quite disgruntled on my behalf. Sit down, will you, I'm getting a crick in my neck trying to look at you."

"Ooh, I don't want to incur the wrath of the Hatchet," she grins, dropping unceremoniously down on her aft. "So why is he irked this time, and do I need to take evasive action?"

"Not you," I grin, twisting so I'm sitting opposite her. "Prime. And Prowl and Jazz. And Red Alert, I guess. They scared the life out of me, then brought me to a command meeting and forgot about me." I shake my head. "It's not important. But it did tick Ratchet off."

"Scared you? Scared you how?" Now she's frowning.

I sigh, toying idly with a piece of asparagus. "Laserbeak. I got over it, though." I put the offending piece of vegetable in my mouth. It's as soggy as I expected, but at least it means I can't talk for a minute. Long enough for Groove to join us again, sitting down on one of the chairs.

"Hey, Arcee," he grins. "Refueled already?"

"You know it," Arcee replies. "I'm heading out on an extra patrol in a little while, I just stopped by to say hi to my girl."

"Extra patrol duty?" I ask, picking up another listless asparagus.

"We all have it," she nods. "I've been pulling double shifts, though, since me and Groove here and Chromia are the only ones who can fit on those narrow wood trails of yours. And since 'Mia got herself slagged, it's left to us to pick up the slack."

"She's back on duty by the end of the week," Groove interjects. "As soon as her welds are set properly."

Well, that explains why I haven't seen Arcee around. I knew there had to be a rational explanation. At least, I tried to convince myself there had to be.

"How did Chromia get herself slagged anyway?"

"She tried to keep up with Ironhide against the 'Cons," Arcee smirks. "Disregarding the fact that his plating is triple the thickness of hers. She's lucky she came back in more or less the same shape as she went out."

I wince. Poor Chromia. Not that she'd appreciate hearing me say that – Chromia's pretty much the toughest female I've ever met, and if it wasn't for Ironhide she would be right up there as the toughest person period.

Arcee pokes at my food skeptically, then pushes a piece of chicken into my mouth. At least, I think it's chicken. It's pretty well camouflaged. "So what are you two doing this afternoon, anyway?"

Groove smiles from behind his cube. "We're just hanging out. I'm off duty until later tonight, so I thought I'd get to know my brother's girl."

Arcee giggles at that, leaning in to touch my nose with her finger. "So you and First Aid are finally official, then?"

I give up on my sorry excuse for food, dropping the fork with a clunk. "You guys have the village rumor mill thing down to an art," I accuse, frowning at her. Of course it bounces right off her. She's just grinning shamelessly at me.

I sigh. "Yes, we're official. Happy?"

"You kidding?" Another crushing hug, another ear-piercing squeal. Red Alert just seems to give up and leave the room. "I'm so excited for you! It's about time you pulled your head out of the ground and realized what was going on!"

"It took her a while, huh?" Groove asks, grinning.

"It took her _ages_!" Arcee sighs dramatically. "I thought we were all going to rust away while we waited for her to figure out how she felt."

I quirk an eyebrow at them. "I'm right here, you know. And it didn't take me ages. Just a couple of weeks. In the grand scope of your lifespan, it's hardly the blink of an eye. Heck, even in mine, it's barely worth mentioning. People have been far denser for far longer."

Arcee giggles. "I guess. I mean, it took Prowl _vorns_ to figure out Jazz was coming on to him."

Vorns. I remember that word from my files. Quick calculations in my head…

Huh. Prowl was oblivious for centuries. That pretty much beats anything I've ever heard of.

"Jazz must be one stubborn mech, if he kept it up for vorns without response," I comment. "Brave, too – most humans tend to give up after a fairly short time out of fear of rejection."

"You should ask him about it sometime, it's a funny story," Groove grins. "He's tenacious, that's for sure. And Prowl was epically dense. I've never seen anyone else resist someone for that long, and Prowl was completely oblivious too."

I chuckle. "Poor Jazz."

"I know of someone who just might break that record," Arcee says slyly.

Okay, I'll bite. Although I have a pretty good idea who she's talking about. "Really? Who?"

She leans forward conspiratorially, looking from Groove to me and back. I find myself leaning forward too, and a glance out of the corner of my eye reveals that Groove is equally pulled in. "Prime."

I lean back again, raise an eyebrow at her. "Prime? Are you saying someone's hitting on Prime and he's oblivious?"

She waves that away with a snort. "No, the other way around. Prime's going to break Jazz's seduction record unless something happens there soon."

"Prime and who?" Groove says, sounding interested despite himself.

"Not saying," Arcee grins. "That's for you to guess. Use those keen powers of observation, Isobel." She flicks her finger at my shoulder. "Whoops, almost late for patrol! Got to go – see you around!" And then she disintegrates prettily.

I giggle, waving the blue sparks away. "Thanks, Arcee."

"She's almost a force of nature," Groove muses.

"Arcee's brilliant," I grin. "I've missed her."

"She did mention you once or twice while in California," he grins.

Well, that's a relief. I'm starting to feel my funk evaporating. It's hard to be gloomy around Groove.

We're not alone at our table for long. Pretty soon Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Bumblebee are laughing along with Groove and me while Bluestreak is flustered at the end of the table, defending himself.

"That's not it," he protests. "It's not the wings! Lots of mechs have wings, and I've never cared about that before, not even doorwings. It's not that. It's not!"

Sideswipe's laughing again. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Blue."

"It's not," Bluestreak mutters. "I _like_ Fireflight. He's fun to hang out with. And he doesn't think I'm a hassle or that I talk too much."

My heart breaks a little at that. He looks so young, suddenly.

"Oh, knock it off, Sides," I smile. "Leave him be."

Bluestreak shoots me a grateful look, and I make a mental note to get him into my office as soon as Optimus okays Autobot treatment again. We need to work on that self-esteem.

Sunstreaker snorts. "Yeah, knock it off, bro. Besides, you're one to talk." He leans in towards his brother's audial, lifting a finger to stroke down Sideswipe's cheek. "Wings," he murmurs, tone an octave lower than usual. "Tailfins. Ailerons." A slight lick to a black sensor horn. " _Thrusters_."

Sideswipe shudders, moaning quietly, and I'm giggling so hard I'm having a hard time staying upright. And Bluestreak's grinning again. Sunstreaker straightens, smirking at the young sniper.

"Okay, you've made your point," Sideswipe chuckles ruefully. "Backing off now."

"Besides, I think they're cute together," Bumblebee grins. "It's nice that people are pairing up."

He's totally winking at me as he says that.

"Of course, it'll make for a more interesting Christmas party too," he continues. "Which you did promise to help me plan, Isobel."

"I guess I did, at that," I agree. "It'll be fun. Though the kind of fun will depend on what type of party you wanted."

He tilts his helm. "What type? Is there more than one type?"

"Of course there is," I grin. "The most usual types are the pre-Christmas day hootenanny and the Christmas day shindig."

Five sets of optics eye me like I'm crazy.

"No one's a Buffy fan," I sigh. "Okay, listen. The Christmas day shindig is family-oriented, and intoxication is kept to a minimal level. There's good food and gift-giving and other cozy traditions. It's the true Christmas celebration." I look around, make sure they're getting it. "The pre-Christmas hootenanny is another animal altogether. Intoxication is encouraged, there's refreshments and snacks, and hemlines are way higher than at a shindig. The music's loud, the spirits high, and there's a possibility that party goers will dance upon unfit surfaces such as tables and counter tops."

Sideswipe smirks at Bumblebee, who grins rather savagely in return. "Hootenanny," they chorus.

I giggle. "Not entirely unexpected. The hootenanny should be held before Christmas proper, so how about the twenty-third? Gives us plenty of time to scheme." I wink at my partner in crime, and Bumblebee winks back, dimming one optic.

"It's a date."

"A date?" a new voice asks. "Who're you dating, Bumblebee?"

"We're setting a date for the Christmas party!" I bounce up on my feet and skip over to First Aid, who lowers a hand for me to climb into. I press a kiss to his sensitive fingers as he lifts me up to nuzzle at my hair. "And if Bee's dating someone, he's not telling. Hi, First Aid."

"Hello, love," he murmurs, still cradling me close to his face. "Missed you today."

"Aw, you two're so sweet you're going to clog up my lines," Sunstreaker complains.

"Medical impossibility," First Aid grins, taking a seat next to Bluestreak. "So, Christmas party, huh?"

"Yep," Bee grins. "Isobel is my co-planner."

"I am," I confirm, leaning back against First Aid's chest. "And the job is twice as big as you think, Bumblebee."

He cocks his head, looks at me. "It is? Why?"

I shoot him a smug grin. "Because you forgot about the New Year's party. Now that is a hootenanny."

I'm sure they can hear Bumblebee's excited whoop down at the hangars.

* * *

"Did you have fun this afternoon?"

I'm half asleep in First Aid's arms, sated and boneless, when the question pulls me back. "Huh?"

He chuckles quietly. The sound does interesting things to the way our bodies are connected, and suddenly I'm awake again.

"Did you have fun this afternoon?" First Aid repeats. "With my brother and the others?"

"I did," I confirm, burrowing in under his jaw. "It was nice to hang out with them again. And I like Groove, he's just the nicest guy."

"He is that," he replies, nuzzling at my head. "He's the most easy-going of my brothers. I thought you would like him."

"Did you ask him to come meet me?"

"Nah, that was his suggestion. I let them know how you felt after yesterday, and how disappointed I was in them. So he decided to do something about it."

"First Aid's disappointment," I grin. "A horrible thing to endure. So am I being met tomorrow too?"

"Probably," he murmurs. "Probably for the rest of the week, too. I didn't put them up to it, I promise. Do you want me to tell them to back off?"

"I kind of like it, actually." I push at him until he's lying on his back, leaving room for me on that perfect chest, my legs on either side of his hips. "I'm glad they wanted to get to know me. I didn't want to get between you and your brothers. You'll have them long after I'm gone."

He frowns at me, lifts a hand to run a finger down my cheek. "Don't talk like that. I refuse to think about that."

"We'll have to face it at some point." I stretch up to kiss his chin.

"Yes. But you've only been mine for twenty-four hours. I want to savor you for a long time before I have to imagine losing you."

"I can understand that," I reply quietly, putting my head down against his chest. Then I giggle. "For the record, I've been yours for a lot longer than twenty-four hours. Try twenty-four days. We just didn't go through with it until yesterday." I sigh, burrowing into his body. I could just stay here for ever. "Love you, First Aid."

His arms tighten around me. "Love you too, Isobel." I feel his lips against my head. "Now go to sleep."

I can do that.

* * *

_First Aid was right. Someone's been waiting outside my office every day this week. On Tuesday, it was Groove again, then Streetwise yesterday. I like him, too – he's got a quiet, dry sense of humor, and he likes video games, and we joked and laughed all afternoon. Turns out he knows London pretty well, so we had a lot to talk about._

_He hadn't been to Forbidden Planet. Shame on him. I have to get him something from there for Christmas._

_Then, today, it was Groove and Blades. And that was different._

_Blades doesn't like me much. He was grumpy, and snarky, and whatever we were talking about he found some way to be rude to me. Groove had to run interference a lot of the time. Then again, it seemed like he acted that way around everyone, so I'm not that offended. Even Bumblebee was getting the rough side of Blades's comments, and I really can't see what the scout did to earn that. So most likely it's all Blades. Still, being on the receiving end of his vileness wasn't exactly fun._

_I wonder how his brothers manage to have someone like that in their heads when they merge. Groove said that Blades is Defensor's right arm, and the way First Aid's explained it they're all pretty much privy to each other's thoughts and feelings when they're combined. I tried to imagine it – the gentle care of First Aid, Streetwise's wry humor, Groove's carefree attitude, Hot Spot's leadership skills (I guess – I haven't really talked to him yet). And then Blades, snarking and cursing at everyone and everything._

_It doesn't seem like a functional solution._

_Then again, maybe he's different with just his brothers around. They seem to love him, so there has to be something there worth hanging out with. Maybe if I hang around with all of them I'll find out._

_I ran into Jazz today, too. He feels horribly guilty about freaking me out on Saturday. So I took advantage of that and asked to go see Laserbeak in the brig. He didn't understand why I wanted to, but he didn't object as long as I was not in there alone. So whoever's meeting me tomorrow gets to take me, I guess. Unless it's Blades. I'm not going in there with Blades, that won't help at all._

* * *

Turns out it's Hot Spot. I'm sure it's him before he's even opened his mouth. He reminds me of Optimus in this form, too; there's an air of command, of responsibility over him that I haven't seen in many mechs. It makes him extraordinary, even though his holoform – dark, short hair, wide shoulders, strong arms covered in tattoos – is fairly normal by holoform standards.

I walk up to stand in front of him. "Hello, Hot Spot."

"Hi, Isobel. It's nice to see you again." He turns in the direction of the mess halls and begins walking. "Take you to dinner?"

"Actually, I have somewhere to go first."

He pauses, looks down at me. "Oh?"

This mech makes me nervous. I feel like he stands ready to hand out pain and punishment unless I behave. I didn't get that vibe from him on Saturday, but now it certainly seems like that. "Yes. I'm going to visit Laserbeak in the brig. Do you want to come?"

He hesitates, look from me towards the mess halls in front of us. "Why?"

"Well, first, because I don't actually know where the brig is," I reply reasonably. "And second, because Jazz said I wasn't to go see her alone."

That flashes a grin across his face. Good. I want him to relax around me. "Not why you want me to come. I kind of got that. Why you're going in the first place."

I shrug. "Because I want to. It feels like the right thing to do."

He looks at me from the corner of an eye. "I can see why you and First Aid got together. You're both so focused on the right thing to do, being kind, being fair."

"I'll take that as a compliment," I grin.

"You should," Hot Spot replies, turning to take another path running at an angle from the first one. "The brig is this way."

I follow his broad back until we get to a low, long building. It looks more solid than the others, somehow, although it's hard to say why, since it's the same as the other buildings on base.

Hot Spot notices my confusion. "It's tougher than it looks," he grins. "Reinforced with Cybertronium alloys."

I guess that can be practical when your prisoners can easily be taller than houses and strong enough to rip said houses to pieces.

Hot Spot opens the door for me and follows me inside. There's a staircase leading down, and a hallway with a few more doors along it. And directly to the left from where we walked inside there's a room with two mechs in it, playing cards.

The playing cards are the size of my two hands put together.

"Hey, Bluestreak, Sideswipe," I grin. "Can anyone just walk in here?"

"Yeah, this whole place has gone to the dumps lately," Sideswipe smirks at me. "Hey, pretty girl."

"Jazz said you might stop by," Bluestreak adds with a smile. "You going to visit Laserbeak? I don't understand why, I guess it's nice of you but it's kind of unusual and anyway, she's a Decepticon so she's an enemy." He pauses almost like he's listening to himself, then turns to me with a frown. "Why _are_ you going to visit her?"

I shrug. "Learning experience. So are you 'Bots going to point me in the right direction?"

Sideswipe shrugs back, grinning. "Down the stairs. You going down too, Hot Spot? Jazz didn't want her down there alone."

The holoform next to me nods. "I'm going with her."

"Well, good," the silver frontliner smirks, leans back on his chair again. "Less work for me. Blue, it's your turn."

I turn away, giggling a bit, and head for the staircase. Hot Spot is following me, I can sense it – his presence is almost like a wall at my back, pushing me forward.

For a brief moment, I'm fighting the notion that he's going to push me down the stairs. Which is completely ridiculous – this is Hot Spot, for crying out loud. He's a Protectobot. He doesn't push innocent humans down dark staircases.

Still, I hurry a bit.

At the base of the stairs, I pull up short. The whole downstairs level is one large room, only divided by thick metal bars forming cages of sorts. There are six of them.

The bars of one of them are glowing slightly.

I walk over to the still form sitting on the floor in the middle of the cage. "Hey, Laserbeak," I murmur. "Are you okay?"

The metal bird's head rises softly, turning towards me. Then she chirps.

"Yeah, it's me," I grin. "I don't know if you caught my name last time, you were pretty well knocked out. I'm Isobel." I move a little closer. Hot Spot makes a sound behind me, but I don't need him to tell me that I shouldn't touch the bars. They're probably not glowing blue just because it's pretty.

"Sunstreaker painted you, didn't he," I muse, looking her over. Her plating is pristine again, glistening in the soft light. "I knew you'd be pretty. That has to feel better."

A slight tilt of a metallic head. Then she spreads her wings. It almost feels like she's showing off, demonstrating her new pretty plating. That's probably not the case, but I interpret it that way anyway.

"Wow, he did you up good! The only other Cybertronian I've seen looking that glossy is Sunstreaker himself. He must have used the good stuff on you. Do you feel better?"

Another chirp.

"Well, that's good. No leftover irritation from all that tape?" I sigh. "Sunstreaker can be a bit of an aft. I hope I got it all."

Laserbeak stands up suddenly, walking towards the bars. I hear Hot Spot pulling in a sharp breath behind me. Of course I ignore him. There are energized bars between us, for Pete's sake. And it looks like the bars are just close enough together that she can't fit her head through.

Laserbeak drops her head when she comes close to me. I hadn't realized she was quite that big – standing, she's almost my height, and her wingspan must be bigger than I'm tall. She chirps again, turning her head and eyeing me.

"Hey, Laserbeak," I murmur. "What's on your mind?"

"Soundwave, I bet," Hot Spot mutters darkly from behind me. "You shouldn't stand so close, Isobel."

"Hush, you," I say firmly but quietly, without turning away. "I've been closer."

"Yeah, when she was in medical lockdown. There's nothing restraining her now."

"There doesn't have to be," I reply absently. My focus is on the being in front of me. "What are you trying to tell me, Laserbeak?"

She drops her head down further, angling it slightly. I lean forward, craning my neck to see what she's trying to show me. The energized bars are just an inch away from my face. "Well, that doesn't look very comfortable. Hot Spot, come see."

He walks over to stand next to me, looking where I'm pointing. "Crimped cabling. Most of us can fix that ourselves, but she doesn't have the limbs for it. I'd bet her master usually fixes those kind of problems for her." He sighs. "I'll comm Ratchet."

"Why?" I wonder. "Can't anyone fix it?"

He gives me an exasperated look. "Anyone can't put her in medical lockdown."

I scoff at that. "We don't have to put her in lockdown, do we, Laserbeak? How do I de-crimp the cabling?"

At that, Hot Spot looks angry. "You're doing no such thing."

"Well, unless you're doing it, I'm going to do it," I say firmly. I've had enough of him already – in his own way, he's as bad as Blades. I doubt he'd let me handle weapons if it was up to him, and he certainly wouldn't have let me down here. "And somehow, I don't think she trust you to do it."

I'm right, I know it. Hot Spot's not the one she's baring those fragile neck cables to.

I don't even wait for his response. Slowly, carefully, I reach in through the bars. I really hope she's not tricking me – I could do with keeping my hand for a bit longer. Ratchet can't reattach that.

But Laserbeak doesn't move.

I manage to reach the problematic neck cabling, right at the edge of the interlocking plates. It feels not unlike springs that have coiled wrong, somehow, or the effect you get from a garden hose that's bent double.

I frown. They're not giving. "Laserbeak, I need to use both hands, okay?"

There's a heavy sigh coming from the holoform next to me. I ignore him. Laserbeak hasn't moved at all.

With both hands, it's a piece of cake to get the cabling to behave, and before too long Laserbeak's taking a step away, shaking her head. She gives me a very happy-sounding chirp.

"Better," I grin. "Get some recharge, okay? Relax those cables. I'll come by and see you again soon."

Nodding at her chirp, and ignoring the incredulous stare coming from the holoform next to me, I turn and head back upstairs.

* * *

Hot Spot is walking next to me, not saying a word, eyeing me every few minutes. He's been quiet since we left the brig – a tall, imposing, quiet shadow, at my side through dinner in the mess hall and a short session of party planning with Bumblebee, and now on the way back to my apartment.

It's bloody annoying.

"So," I say after a while. "Laserbeak got your tongue?"

That gets his attention. "What?"

Didn't restore his way with words, though.

"You're doing the tall, dark and silent thing," I point out. "It's starting to become uncomfortable."

"Sorry." He forces a smile. "Was trying to figure out how to tell you something."

"Well, we're at my flat," I point out. "You want to come in? You can spit out whatever's bothering you in private?"

He sighs. "That might work. Thanks."

I shrug. "No problem." Weird Protectobot.

But he continues pacing when we're inside. I'm getting tired just watching him. I mean to wait him out, but when he turns for the thirteenth time I've had enough.

"All right, you. Spill."

"Huh?" He stops, stares at me. One would almost think he forgot I was there. "Oh. Yeah. Um." He turns towards me and straightens. The air of command is stronger than ever. "I owe you an apology for the way we've behaved. But I also want you to understand why we've behaved like that."

I cant my head as I sit down on the couch. "That would be nice. I just thought you didn't like me."

He shakes his head. "It's got nothing to do with you personally. It's just…" He frowns, paces a few more steps before stopping to stare at me. Glare, rather. "You're going to break First Aid's spark."

… What?

"Well, you don't have high opinions of me at all, do you?" I frown, trying to cover my confusion. "I won't do that."

"Yes, you will," Hot Spot says firmly. "It's our job to keep him from being hurt. And no matter if you mean to or not, you will _hurt_ him."

I pull my knees up to my chin, putting my arms around my legs. It's a defensive position, but I don't give a damn. "You sound awfully sure of that."

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because you're human."

The words hurt, but I know what he's getting at now.

"Because he'll outlive me."

"Yes," Hot Spot nods. "By millennia, most likely. And he'll be in pain from losing you. All. The. Time."

I curl in on myself even more. I don't want that to happen. But he's right.

I'm going to hurt First Aid.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "No wonder you guys hate me."

He comes over, kneels in front of me. "We don't hate you, Isobel. As I said, it's not you personally. It's you being with First Aid we really don't like." He tries for a smile and manages a grimace. "I'm pretty sure we'd like you if it weren't for that."

"Well, that's something." My voice has no volume left. "Does it… Does it help if I break it off?" Not that I think I can manage. I'm not that selfless.

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "Not at this point, I think. It's too late for that." He sighs. "To be honest, I wish he'd never met you."

My vision fogs up. I scrunch my eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, Isobel." He doesn't sound sorry. "I felt it was best that you know why we're treating you like this. It really isn't you – we would have reacted like this no matter which human he'd taken up with." He snorts. "Actually, it is you, a bit. You have no fear. Or sense of self-preservation."

"That makes it worse?" I manage a hoarse whisper, but I still can't look at him.

"To be honest, yes. If you'd had some fear you wouldn't have gotten this close to us. And you certainly wouldn't run the risk of dying prematurely because you don't have the common sense to stay away from pit-spawned Decepticons."

So that's wrong, too. Well, I knew that.

But that actually pisses me off. "It's called 'mercy', Hot Spot," I spit. "Maybe you've been fighting a war for so long, you've forgotten about that concept. Just like you've forgotten what you're fighting for."

He's quiet for a minute before sighing. I can hear him stand back up. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Still. It doesn't change anything."

I can hear him walking away from me, and the sound of the door opening. "Bye, Isobel."

I don't answer.

* * *

I'm in bed, curled up into a ball, with damp hair hiding my face when First Aid appears. Literally – one moment I'm alone, the next he solidifies behind me, pulling me close. "Hello, love." A kiss on the bare skin of my shoulder. "How was your day?"

"Educational," I whisper. My throat's still sore from the breakdown I had in the shower.

"Really?" He chuckles against my neck. "How?"

"Well, your brother thinks I'm a glitch."

"Hmm. Which one?"

That's a valid question. I'm sure one of his brothers thinks everyone's a glitch. "Hot Spot."

One of his hands finds mine, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand. "That doesn't sound like him. What did he say?"

A lot more than I'm sharing with you, my beautiful First Aid. This time I'm not telling the whole truth.

"That I have no self-preservation and lack the common sense to stay away from slagging Decepticons."

He chuckles again. "Were you by any chance discussing Laserbeak? I heard Jazz gave you permission to visit."

Not really, but he doesn't need to know that. So I dodge the question.

I'm probably going to get good at that.

"I put my hands into her cage today. She had some crimped neck cables that needed soothing and wanted me to do it. So I did."

"Well done you," he says, real joy in his voice, his lips moving on my cheek. "I'm proud of you. That took courage. Also, it's good that you've managed to earn her trust."

I smile despite myself and twist in his grip so I can snuggle into his chest. "Hot Spot thought I was insane."

"Hot Spot doesn't get it. But I think that if Ratchet or Optimus had seen that, they would have been proud of you too."

That… actually helps a lot.

"Thanks, First Aid." I sigh contentedly as he pulls me close, my legs tangling with his.

"Of course," he smiles against my forehead. "Sleep now, love, okay?"

"Sure," I murmur, closing my eyes and reveling in the closeness of him. "Love you, Aid."

"Love you too, Isobel. Always have, always will."

Of course. That's the whole problem.

Yeah, I close my eyes. I don't fall asleep, though. Not for a long time.


	17. Surprise

There's nothing like hot chocolate for comfort. With at least six baby marshmallows, and cinnamon on top, stirred with a chocolate straw.

It's a December drink. And I'm indulging. Heavily.

The rec room's empty except for me. No one comes here on Saturday mornings, so it's an excellent place to read, relax, watch TV… Or, in my case, figure things out.

I don't know what to do about the Protectobots. I feel like I have to fix it, somehow, but I can't just magically not die. That's going to happen at some point. And I really don't want to be a wedge between First Aid and his brothers. It's almost better to take myself out of the picture. Almost.

"Credit for your thoughts?"

I jump halfway to the ceiling, spilling hot chocolate over most of my hand. "Crap! Ow, ow ow ow ow…"

"Pit! Isobel, I'm sorry!" Bumblebee's worried face appears in front of me, hands fluttering uselessly over my hand. "What do I do?"

"Don't worry about it," I manage through gritted teeth, putting my cup down and walking towards the rest room in the back. "I've got it."

Bee's right on my heels, fretting, while I rinse off the cocoa in luke-warm water and examine my skin in the bright light. It's red, but it looks to be okay.

"Should I comm First Aid?" Bumblebee's staring at my hand with big eyes.

"Nah, no point bothering him for this," I sigh. "It's just scalded, nothing worth fussing over. You owe me a perfect hot chocolate, though."

"You sure?" He follows me back to my chair, takes the tissues from my hand when I bend to wipe up the mess and does it for me.

"Yeah, don't worry." I smile at him – he's cute when he's protective. "First Aid's with his brothers, I don't want to bother them."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Bumblebee gives me a Look as we sit back down. "Isobel," he says sternly, "what's going on? I can tell it's something."

I don't answer. Not that that stops him.

"Isobel, tell me." The tone is growing insistent. "Did something happen with you and the rest of the Protectobots?" Big, blue eyes stare into mine, pale eyebrows scrunched down into a frown. "You know I'll keep pestering you until you 'fess up."

"You will, won't you," I sigh, picking up my cup again. A good half of it is gone. "Fine. I talked to Hot Spot yesterday. He said he wished that First Aid had never met me."

Bumblebee leans back, eyes widening in surprise. "What? But that's- huh. I don't suppose he could have meant it differently?"

Now it's my turn to give him a Look, and he smiles awkwardly. "Nah, guess not. There's no way to put a positive spin on that, is there. Did he say why?"

"Because I'm human. I'm going to die before First Aid, and then he'll have an eternity of pain because of me." I take a deep swallow of my not-so-hot-anymore chocolate to conceal my emotions.

Bumblebee frowns again. "That's slag, Isobel. Aid doesn't care about that."

"I know he doesn't. That doesn't make it any less true." I cradle my cup closely, absorbing what little heat it has left. "And there's not a thing I can do about it."

"It's still slag, Isobel. None of us are guaranteed to outlive anyone else. I mean, look at Optimus and Elita! And the Autobots are still spread across the universe, there are bots we haven't seen in ages who we don't know whether are alive or dead, so we can't even grieve them, we can just wait. At least when you die, Aid will have closure. And he can move on, after a while, love someone else." He gives me an apologetic look at that. "Sorry."

"No, that's okay." I half-smile at him, one corner of my mouth moving. It's about all I can muster at the moment. "I want him to have someone, even if it can't be me." And no matter how much that hurts to think about.

"But that's just it, Isobel." And now Bumblebee's smiling. "And that's what Hot Spot doesn't get – I guess he hasn't talked to Prime about it, and I have. First Aid will always have you. Even when you're gone, he'll be able to recall every moment in perfect detail. And eventually, it'll stop hurting so badly." He comes over to me and pulls me into a hug. "You are not allowed to feel guilty about this, do you hear me?"

"Easier said than done," I quip, though the effort is half-hearted. "I still have to get along with them, and they don't like me."

"They do," he insists, leaning his forehead against mine. The gesture would be intimate if this was anyone but Bumblebee. From him, it's just friendly. "Just give them time. Now. Are you out of your funk yet?"

That has me grinning, the first true smile since Hot Spot visited me last night. "Getting there. You dispel funk, you know."

"It's a great power that comes with great responsibility," he smirks. "So you ready for another great responsibility?"

I nod. "Shoot."

"We have parties to plan." Now, that grin is truly wicked.

I sigh, put my mug down. "You are correct, wise one. But for that, I think I need a different type of beverage."

* * *

_It's amazing, how effective I can be when I'm fueled by nothing but coffee. I'm going to regret not having breakfast at some point, and First Aid'll probably chew me out for it too, but I just couldn't eat this morning. Anyway, we got a lot done._

_Bumblebee got the okay from Prime to come with me to London. We're leaving on Sunday, early in the morning. Lennox has booked me into a hotel, a fairly nice one too, right smack dab in the middle of everything and with a locked parking garage outside for Bee. It wouldn't do to have him parked on the side of the street like a common car. Apparently, he's going to be spending all week in holoform. He says that doesn't bother him._

_At least I'll have someone strong to carry my shopping, haha. I'm going to need that._

_We also set up a party shopping list. Bee's very excited to be throwing a New Year's party, even more than the Christmas party I think. It may have something to do with the way that Wheeljack's promised to make the fireworks._

_I'm dreading that bit of it already._

_In a little while, I'm heading to my first hand-to-hand combat class. At least that should let me work up an appetite._

* * *

My hand hurts and I'm sore everywhere when I limp back towards my apartment in the evening. I'm just about ready for a shower and one of Aid's massages, and then I think I'll sleep until about Tuesday.

Of course, that's not going to happen.

"Isobel? What happened to you?"

"Combat practice," I groan, turning towards Bluestreak. "Apparently, there was no need to take it easy on me just because I'm a civilian. I'm going to be bruised."

"That's what you get for playing with the big boys," Sideswipe smirks. "You get beaten."

"Oh, mute it," I grin back. "It's not like it was my decision, anyway. I'm taking orders here, like a good little soldier. You two heading for your shift?"

"Yep, guard duty for your little flying friend," the silver Autobot nods. "Don't know what we're keeping her for, to be honest. She's not much good for trading for any of ours, and she's not revealing anything. Her master's too embedded in her processor for her to give anything away."

"You should come visit her again, Isobel," Bluestreak says eagerly. "She calmed down lots after you were there, and she seems to trust you. Which is really cool, I don't think any of us have earned the trust of a Decepticon before, and Laserbeak's dead useful too, Soundwave uses her for infiltration all the time so it would be really sweet if she didn't want to do that anymore because she likes you."

"I'll swing by again tomorrow," I grin. "If I can still walk. I still have a standing invitation, right?"

"Yeah, you, First Aid, Ratchet, Optimus, Jazz and Prowl are the only ones allowed down without double-checking with Prime," Sideswipe replies. "Hot Spot was allowed down yesterday because he was with you." He looks down at me. "Did you really stick both your hands in her cell?"

I shrug. "Well, someone had to soothe those crimped neck cables."

He shakes his head. "You're insane."

"Nah," I giggle. "I just don't have a healthy level of fear and self-preservation, apparently."

"That's another way of putting it," Sideswipe grins. "C'mon, Blue, we're running late. See you, crazy girl."

"Bye, mechs." I wave at them tiredly before trudging down the lane that leads to my flat.

I don't get very far before I'm swept off my feet and picked up. "Hello, beautiful."

"Hello, handsome," I grin, putting my arms around First Aid's neck. "Come here often?"

"Only when the company's good," he grins. "How was your training?"

"Exhausting," I admit. "I ache in muscles I didn't know I had. I thought I was reasonably fit, you know? Turns out I was wrong."

He hugs me close, kissing my nose. "You're not that bad. But fighting is very different from running."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get that." I lean my head against his shoulder, content for the first time since he went to train with his brothers early this morning.

"Come on," he says, turning around to unlock my door. I'm not going to wonder about how he has a key – I haven't given him one. "Let's get you clean and then it's time for that subscription of yours."

I grin at that. First Aid is a mind reader.

As he lets me down, my hurt hand brushes against his arm and I flinch. First Aid, being the awesome medic Protectobot that he is, of course doesn't miss it. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"Oh, Bumblebee spilled hot chocolate on it this morning," I sigh, surrendering said appendage for inspection. "It's nothing."

He leads me over to the couch and has me sit down. "Nothing, huh? Then why does it still hurt?"

He takes hold of my hand carefully, turning it this way and that. There's a lot of redness over the back of my hand and the fingers, but that's it.

"Looks like it could have gone lots worse," First Aid says, lifting my fingertips to plant a kiss on them. "Still, I'd have preferred if you had called me when it happened. Did you cool it down immediately?"

"Yeah, luke-warm water," I nod. "Bee offered to comm you, but I told him it wasn't necessary. It's no biggie."

He pulls me to my feet. "Luckily. Go shower, Isobel. I'll put something on that when you're done, so it'll heal better."

* * *

When I'm clean, and Aid's satisfied his medic needs to make sure my hand is all right, he has me lying down on my front on the couch, his magic fingers giving me the workover of a lifetime. I don't think his fingers have ever found a muscle that didn't love them – he seems to find every single knotted little muscle fiber, teasing them all straight with perfect pressure and smooth touches. I'm a pile of goo under his hands.

"So why didn't you let Bumblebee comm me?" he asks lightly.

It takes my brain a moment to compute that I'm being addressed. "Huh? Oh, because it wasn't serious. I've scalded my hands before, I know what to do."

"Is that the only reason?" His fingers find a particularly sore spot on the back of my thigh, kneading gently.

"Yes," I mumble, lost in the sensation. "I didn't want to bother you over something that was nothing. God, that's good."

"What if I wanted to be bothered?" Fingers deftly manipulating ache after ache up my thigh and hip.

I groan appreciatively. "Aid, that feels spectacular." I lose focus for a moment before realizing that I'm technically in the middle of a conversation. "But you were with your brothers. I didn't want to intrude."

"Uh-huh," he replies. "And why do you think that it would be an intrusion?"

Hang on, I think I'm finally catching on here.

Clever, _clever_ Protectobot.

I twist so I can look up at him, one eyebrow raised. "Aid, are you interrogating me?"

He grins sheepishly, sitting down on the couch next to me. "It almost worked. You don't think that much about what you're saying when you're this relaxed."

I take his hand and press a kiss to his palm. "And if it had worked?"

He leans towards me, lets me pull him down to lie in front of me on the couch. It's a tight fit, but we manage, both of us lying on our sides, our noses almost touching.

"You would have told me why you're still apprehensive about my brothers."

I sigh, look away for a moment. "I'm not apprehensive. I know what to expect, what they think of me."

"Then why are you worried?" Gentle, long fingers in a feather-light touch against my cheek.

"I'm not. No, really," I insist, seeing the doubt on his face. "I'm not worried. I'm not apprehensive. I'm just... I don't know." If I was standing, I would be throwing my arms out and pacing back and forth, I have such problems explaining myself right now. Plus, I really, really, _really_ don't want to.

Unfortunately, I'm lying down and effectively trapped, so the most I can manage is a half-shrug.

"I don't understand," he murmurs quietly, forehead resting against mine. "Are you having second thoughts about us?"

"No! Heavens, no," I exclaim. "No. I'm not. I love you, First Aid." I take a deep breath. "But your brothers… They don't like me. Or they may like me, but not the idea of me and you."

"I know." His lips brush against mine. "I was hoping that when they got to know you, they'd realize what a fantastic person you are and this would all be good. But they're being unusually stubborn afts, Hot Spot in particular."

"Heh," I smile slightly. "Not Blades?"

"Nah," First Aid chuckles. "Being an aft's pretty much par for the course, for him. Not that unusual."

I giggle quietly at that, shifting slightly so I can get closer. It's very comfortable, being this close to him.

"I don't want to get between you guys," I sigh. "How do I fix this?"

"It's not your job to fix it," he murmurs gently, eyes staring into mine under those amazing eyelashes. I couldn't blink if my life depended on it. "I saw it all this morning when we trained with the Aerialbots and Superion wanted to wrestle with Defensor. You've talked with them, hung out with them, relaxed around them. Whatever happens next has to come from them, not you." Then he grins suddenly. "Besides, Streetwise likes you, and Groove thinks you're pretty much the awesomest person he's ever met. His words, not mine." Arms sneak around me, and First Aid twists with me until he's on his back on the couch with me across his chest. "To be honest, I think if he'd met you before I did I would have had to fight him over you."

"You don't fight," I point out.

"Heh. Friendly competition, then."

"Well, there's no competition now," I murmur into his chest. "I didn't realize Groove thought like that. It's a bit of a relief that half of your brothers like me, anyway."

"Exactly. And Hot Spot'll get over it. So will you stop worrying now?

"Heh," I grin, closing my eyes contentedly. "I'll try."

* * *

_I'd forgotten how fast time flies when I'm look forward to something fun. I'M GOING TO LONDON WITH BUMBLEBEE ON SUNDAY! And I'm so excited, I have such a case of travel fever that you wouldn't believe it, I have problems sitting still for any given period of time and I just can't wait. I know quite a few of the Autobots think I'm hilarious at this point, because I'm pretty much vibrating all the time._

_Bee's excited, too. He's re-written the party shopping list at least three times, in conjunction with the twins and Wheeljack. And then I have my own list as well. It's a good thing the military's sporting us with transport, or else we'd have a serious overweight luggage problem. Especially considering my almost never-ending Christmas gift list._

_I can't wait! It's just half a week away!_

_I spent all of Sunday party planning with Bumblebee. He's very excited about the whole two-parties-in-a-week thing, and two different themes at that. So a whole day of planning barely settled anything, he bounced from item to item so fast that I had problems keeping up with him. At least I think the party'll be good – I just have to make sure that Bee doesn't encourage Wheeljack_ too _much. Maybe I should talk to 'Jack myself._

_Oh, and yesterday I saw something promising! I was coming back from visiting Laserbeak with Streetwise (he was less freaked than Hot Spot about me putting my arms into her cage) and I was swinging by med bay to ask Ratchet if he could tell me more about her physiology when I heard voices from inside, so I stopped. And I sneaked, haha, I sneaked over to look inside, because I didn't want to disturb whoever was in there in case it was something sensitive._

_And it totally was!_

_Because Ratchet, it seems, has finally gotten over that whole I'm-so-far-beneath-Optimus's-station-I'm-not-worthy-of-him thing! At least if the closeness and the smiling and the hands on faceplates are anything to go by :D So I'm really hoping for a Christmas miracle for those two, they deserve it._

_Needless to say, I snuck back out again. I'll ask Ratchet about Laserbeak some other time._

_Whoever says that the Autobots are just robots should be here now. There's so much love and care going around – from Blaster and Arcee taking their energon by the lagoon, to Bluestreak with his head in Fireflight's lap on the shooting range, to the looks that Jazz is shooting Prowl when he thinks nobody sees, to Inferno actually managing to talk Red Alert into touring the island with him. (That was completely adorable, too – Red Alert's more than a little agoraphobic, and he's paranoid to boot, so he clung to Inferno the whole way through the base and probably after that too. And the look on Inferno's face… He was so damn proud of his Red Alert, I think even a blind man could see it. So, so cute.)_

_And then there's First Aid, of course, who's by my side whenever he's not on duty or training. He's so affectionate, it's like he's trying to make up for his eldest brother not accepting me. And he's managing, too._

_I could spend the rest of my life looking into those blue eyes. Or optics. Both forms are good._

_Being away from him for a week is going to be hard. But I'm still really excited – I know we're going to have a lot of fun. And absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder, right? It worked last time!_

* * *

I hadn't realized how crazily eager Bumblebee can get when he's plotting. He's pulling a complete Bluestreak, following me around and chattering excitedly while I'm putting up Christmas decorations and hanging lights in my windows. And he's been at it for three hours straight, with no sign of stopping soon.

"… and I was thinking, since Blaster did the music for the Halloween party, right, that maybe Jazz should do the Christmas party, but then I'm not sure about the New Year's. Lennox says he knows this singer that'll come and perform at one of the parties if we want to, she apparently got caught up in one of our battles so she knows about us already. I thought that might be cool too, what do you think? And we need to look at the location again, too, having two parties in the same place just over a week apart is going to be heavy for the theater room. Maybe we should see if there's another space we can use, do you think that would work? Isobel? What are you thinking about?"

I start at the careful touch to my arm and realize that I'm apparently supposed to reply. He's been talking so much, I kind of tuned him out. Racking my brain for a moment, I mentally rewind to figure out what he asked me.

"I think the theater will do fine," I decide. "We'll have some time to reset it from one mode to the other. And a hired singer might be fun too, I guess, though I'll leave that one up to you. As to what I'm thinking…" I turn towards him and grin. "I'm thinking it's dinner time."

He looks at me with confusion. "But we just had lunch, didn't we?"

"You picked me up at noon," I remind him. "And then you took me to lunch. And now it's dinner time."

A brief pause as his eyes go distant, probably checking something. Then he grins. "Well, would you look at that. Come one, Isobel, I'll take you to dinner."

He waits until I've gotten my shoes on, then offers me his arm. "M'lady?"

"Why, thank you," I giggle. "Did you look up those dance steps yet?"

"I did," he grins. "I think I can convince a few of the others to learn them as well. It'll be fun."

"Autobots ballroom dancing," I muse. "I wonder what Lennox will say."

Bumblebee winks at me. "He's learning the moves, too."

That has me in endless giggle fits until we reach my mess hall. I fetch my meal hurriedly before we head to the other mess hall, the one I spend the most time in.

"Wow, it's really crowded today," Bumblebee comments. "Weird, I thought many of these 'bots would be on duty by now."

He's right. There are 'bots standing everywhere; the room is big enough to harbor most of them at any given time, but there's nowhere near enough seating for all of them at once, and now mechs are standing along the walls. Bumblebee transforms and carries me, which I'm glad of – I know these guys wouldn't trample me on purpose, but in this crowd I don't think they'd even see me. There are bots here I've never seen before, and 'bots I've never seen off- duty, so something's going on.

"Isobel! Bee!"

Bee turns and angles towards Eject. The little cassette – little from my view point right now, though usually he's taller than me – is elbowing his way through the mass of metal, pushing towards where the crowd is thickest in the center of the room.

"You're not going to believe it!" he gushes. "Come on, come on, you have to meet them, Isobel!"

"Meet who?" I call down.

"My brothers! This is great! I feel like it's the Superbowl and the FIFA world cup final and the winter Olympics at once!"

"More brothers?" I giggle at his energy. He's practically bouncing.

"Yeah! Ramhorn and Steeljaw are back from their mission!"

"Um… okay?"

Bumblebee chuckles and follows the cassette over to the center table, where he scoops Eject up from the floor and deposits both of us on the tabletop. Eject is grinning widely, and Rewind, I see, is already there in front of Blaster, along with two someones I've never seen before.

When Bumblebee puts me down, I just gape. Seriously, what else can I do?

I suppose after Laserbeak, I should have expected that mechs come in all shapes and sizes. Jazz did make a point of just that.

Though I have to admit, I seriously didn't expect a rhinoceros.

Yeah, granted, the boxy metal lion throws me, too. But I'm absolutely floored by the rhino.

Orange. Metal. Rhinoceros.

I close my mouth gracelessly.

Rewind is wearing this huge, shit-eating grin, and he winks when he notices me staring. "Isobel, these are our brothers, Ramhorn and Steeljaw." No surprise who's who.

I dump down on my rear unceremoniously. And if it's a bit uncoordinated and less graceful than my usual standard, well – I think that can be explained by 'rhino'. "Hello. It's nice to meet you."

Steeljaw nods at me, and Ramhorn grunts. I guess that's a normal greeting for them, because no one else is reacting to the manner of greeting, so it's probably not rude. I hope.

I don't think I can deal with any more rude brothers.

"So now that Eject's finally here, will you spill already?" Rewind complains, lightly punching his cat brother on the shoulder. "Where've you been?"

"Mission," Steeljaw answers, pushing against his brother's fist. "You know that. Classified."

"Not classified anymore, you're back now," Eject says, still bouncing eagerly. "So now you can spill? Right?"

"You left with Smokescreen and Trailbreaker, right?" someone says from the crowd.

"'S right," Ramhorn grumbles. His voice is low and gravelly. "They're debriefing with Prime and Prowl."

"So whatever you did is secret until they're done with their debriefing? Or can you tell us about it now? You've been gone for a really long time." That's Bluestreak.

Steeljaw sits up on his haunches and grins. He's apparently been saving this story up so everyone could listen at once. That explains the crowd. "Okay. Listen. Early this spring, there was a meteor shower. I was monitoring near-space at the time. And as it turned out, one of the meteors came down over South America."

"That's not that strange," Sunstreaker says.

"That's not the strange part," Ramhorn grunts. "This particular meteorite was pinging an Autobot locator signal."

Absolute, utter silence. I can tell I'm the only one breathing.

"So it wasn't a meteorite."

"No, Sideswipe, it wasn't. But it looked like one."

"What do ya mean, Steelie?"

"I mean, Inferno, that it looked like a falling stone on fire. We had visuals of the thing streaking through the sky, scans, the works. It was a meteorite. With an Autobot indicator." Steeljaw shrugs, an un-catlike raising of boxy orange shoulders. "So Prime dispatched the two of us with Smokey and 'Breaker to track it down, find out what it was – Ramhorn and I because of our sensors, and the others for their defensive capabilities. We were meant to be a scouting party of sorts, very under the radar. We've spent months trekking through the densest part of the Brazilian rainforest on foot, being as inconspicuous as possible to avoid alerting the 'Cons."

"Did you find it?" Fireflight asks eagerly.

"Oh, yeah," Ramhorn replies gruffly. "Yeah, we found them."

I'm suddenly noticing that I'm leaning forward, hanging onto their every word. A brief look around reveals that I'm not the only one – I'm surrounded by wide optics, all attention riveted on the newly-returned brothers sitting across from me.

"It was a mech?" someone asks.

"Them?" Wheeljack repeats sharply. "Them who, Steelie?"

"Well," Steeljaw replies, "there's only one mech who can make a falling shuttle look like a burning meteor."

"Hound," someone breathes.

"Yeah," Steeljaw says, and now he's grinning ferally. "Hound."

"Thank Primus!" I can't pinpoint the whisper, but the voice sounds vaguely familiar.

"A falling shuttle?" Silverbolt asks. "Who, Steeljaw?"

"Skyfire," Ramhorn says. "And before you ask, he's fine now. He's with Ratchet, along with the others."

"Skyfire," Skydive grins. " _Excellent."_

"Others?" Wheeljack again. I suddenly wonder who he's waiting for – which Autobot hasn't arrived on Earth yet, that has him so on edge now that it seems there are new arrivals. "Who, Ramhorn?"

Steeljaw extends a metal claw, scratches a line on the table finish. "Skyfire." Another line. "Hound." A third scratch joins the two. "Perceptor." A susurration runs through the bots behind me, a lot of intakes drawing air at once. "Blurr." Soft sighs and quiet exclamations behind me, as a fifth line joins the four, slanting across them like a prison counter. "And Hoist."

"Hoist?" someone asks tremulously. I turn to see a chunky orange bot leaning forward past Sunstreaker, wide optics staring at Steeljaw. "Did you say Hoist?"

"Yeah, Grapple," Ramhorn replies, his gruff tones soft. "Hoist is here. And he's just fine."

And the orange 'bot drops to his knees, hiding his head in his hands, keening softly. "Oh, Primus," he gasps. "I've missed him so much." Arcee kneels down and hugs him. She looks like she's laughing and crying at the same time.

"Primus," Wheeljack whispers. "Blurr."

"Perceptor." Sideswipe is grinning madly.

"Are they all okay, Steeljaw?" Eject is hanging onto his rhinoceros brother, one arm leaning over the wide, powerful shoulders.

"They're a little worse for wear," Steeljaw admits, "but nothing that Ratchet can't fix in a jiffy. I'd bet they'll be roaming the base tomorrow." He looks up at the others and smiles that feral grin again. "Face it, my mechs. We have them all back to stay."

At that, the room erupts with cheers, loud enough that I have to cover my ears. I'm grinning along with the rest of them, though – I don't know any of the named 'bots, but the atmosphere of relief and giddy joy is so thick I can practically taste it. I see the Aerialbots standing as a group, hanging onto each other with silly smiles on their faces. Wheeljack is standing dazed, not seeming to notice the others jostling around him, while the orange bot – Grapple – is still on the floor, sitting now, with Arcee and Bluestreak talking to him, stroking his arms.

I lean back towards Bumblebee. "Are Grapple and Hoist..?"

"Bondmates?" he murmurs quietly. "Yeah, I think so. Primus, this is good news. Those mechs have been missing for ages. I know more than one of us feared they were lost for good."

"It is good news," I agree, smiling. "Almost a Christmas miracle."

Bee's eyes dims as he looks the term up. Then he nods appreciatively, still smiling widely. "Yeah, Isobel," he replies. "That it is."

* * *

The excitement and crazy relief permeates the mess hall for hours, until it's getting quite late, but nobody seems inclined to leave. When a black mech walks through the door, a red mech with a telescope of sorts on his shoulder following him, the room explodes and I have to cover my ears again.

"Percy!" Wheeljack hollers, elbowing his way across the room and enveloping the red mech in a giant hug, Sideswipe and Inferno hot on his heels. The black mech gets his share of attention too, but based on the way the others are reacting I'm guessing that this is one of the ones who went on the mission - one of the rescuers, not one of the rescuees.

I'm still grinning like a loon, caught up in the mood of the room as the Autobots are celebrating. Cubes have been distributed that seem to contain something slightly different than the regular fuel, judging by the color and by the way some of the mechs are starting to act less – well, inhibited than usual. The gathering is quickly turning into a party when the door opens again, and Optimus Prime steps through.

It takes a few moments, but then all assembled mechs are quiet, turned towards their leader still standing in the doorway.

Huh. I'm impressed. He didn't have to say anything; I don't think he even cleared his throat. He just walked in, and quiet fell around him. Now that's leadership.

"My friends," Optimus intones, and I have a suspicion that there is a smile hiding behind that facemask. "As you know, we have been blessed today by having returned to us five who we feared had been lost. It is my pleasure to tell you that Hound, Hoist and Blurr will be released from med bay tomorrow morning, barring further complications. Perceptor, as you see, is already released, and Skyfire will have to stay in Ratchet's care for a little while longer pending partial reconstruction of one of his wings. But they will all be fine." He looks around at the Autobots looking at him. "Now, as much as I understand the need to celebrate, I'm afraid I have to break up this gathering. Many of you are supposed to still be on-duty, and the rest of you will need to recharge soon. There will be plenty of time to get reacquainted tomorrow and in the days to come." His gaze travels across each us. "Get some recharge." He reaches out a hand towards the orange 'bot still sitting on the floor. "Grapple – come with me, my friend. I'll take you to see Hoist." He waits until the other's on his feet, making his way somewhat unsteadily towards Prime, before turning and walking back outside.

The others begin leaving as well, in twos and threes. Mirage walks out along with the black mech, one blue hand on the other's shoulder. The twins walk out with Wheeljack and Perceptor, both rather unsteady on their feet and leaning on a content-looking Sideswipe.

"Well, we should head back too, my mechs," Blaster says, eyeing his cassettes fondly. Eject is leaning up against Steeljaws side, already half asleep, and Rewind is sitting next to his rhinoceros brother, petting and stroking the strong sides. "You guys want to dock tonight?"

Rewind stands up, nods sleepily. "Yes, please. Come on Eject, into your slot."

I thought I had seen some strange things since I got to Diego Garcia. But none of it can compare to Blaster opening his chest up like an old-fashioned boom-box and Eject, still half gone, leaping into it, transforming on the fly into a small, square shape that completely disappears inside Blaster's chest. Rewind follows in the same manner.

I'm suddenly aware that I'm staring. Blaster smiles slightly at me as Steeljaw rises to his feet and leaps, followed by his massive brother. When they're all little squares, tucked away and hidden, Blaster closes his chest again.

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, Blaster, I didn't mean to stare."

"I'm not offended," he chuckles. "Would have been surprising if you hadn't stared, you've never seen them dock before. It's… it's comforting, for all of us, being this close, especially since Steelie and Ramhorn've been away for so long. Bonds tend to close down with time and distance. When we're connected like this the bond is reaffirmed." He rubs a hand tenderly over his chest compartment. "It's just right, I guess."

"I think I understand," I nod. "I'd love to hear more about it another time, if that's okay."

"Sure," he replies easily. "Nothing much is secret. Ask away." Then he grins. "Another time."

"Thanks. Hey, can I ask one question now, though?"

"One," he winks. "Then it's bedtime for you too, little lady."

"Okay." I smile back at him. I like Blaster, he's so easygoing. "And don't be offended, okay? In case it's an offending question – but I really wouldn't know." I look up at him expectantly. "Do Soundwave's cassettes dock with him too, like yours do? Is it the same?"

"That's not an offensive question at all," he replies with an easy smile. "Yeah, it's the same. We're the same frametype. Soundwave has two minimechs, like me, except his are twins, and another bird type aside from Laserbeak. And he has a cybercat called Ravage. There was a bat-thing at some point, I don't know if that's the case anymore. But yeah, they dock like mine do."

"Okay," I nod. "Thanks, Blaster."

So Laserbeak, poor thing, is being kept away from a family much like Blaster's, and has to stay here in the brig alone instead.

I make a mental note to visit her again tomorrow. I should warn her that I'll be away for a while, too.

"You ready to go home?" Bumblebee says, holding a hand down for me. He sounds tired, but he looks happy.

"I'll take her, if that's all right," another voice says. First Aid's white hand comes down and picks me up easily.

"Absolutely," Bumblebee grins. "You two are perfect together, do you know that? Anyway, I'll see you for planning tomorrow, Isobel."

"Sure thing," I grin at him. "I'll meet you in the rec room after lunch, okay? I have some things I have to do first."

He nods and waves as me as he turns away. On the way to the door, he bumps into Skydive, and when I see the jet's hand take Bumblebee's and pull him along outside, Bumblebee leaning into the other's frame and nuzzling at his neck, I'm not entirely believing my eyes. But then Silverbolt gathers up Hot Spot in the same way, and I just shrug and give up.

Apparently, one night stands are not a purely human thing. As tactile and affectionate as these 'bots are, it's not really that surprising.

First Aid cradles me to his chest. "I love you, Isobel."

"I love you, too, First Aid," I murmur, snuggling against his warm plating. "Take me home?"

"With pleasure."

* * *

_I'm going to miss First Aid while I'm away. He spends pretty much every night with me, unless he's on duty, and waking up alone is going to majorly suck. Thank goodness it's just for a week._

_I packed my suitcases today. It's the first time I've taken a holiday and not had to think about luggage restrictions at all, which is awesome. Especially since I'm planning to bring back at least one suitcase full of gifts. Usually I would pack really light for this kind of trip, so I have room for all my treasures on the return trip. It's a welcome change to be able bring enough clothes and not have to worry about spilling ketchup on one of my two packed shirts, which is usually the case._

_I stopped by to see Laserbeak after I was done packing. Poor thing is not happy – she perks up when I arrive, but she's in a funk. I'm still not excellent at reading her body language, but I'd say she's depressed. And no wonder, if she's used to being close to her family all the time. She was here for at least a week before she was even captured, so chances are she hasn't seen them for at least a month._

_I asked her if she missed them. That was when she leaned as close as she dared to the energized bars and pretty much asked for comfort. So I spent about an hour stroking and petting her today while Bluestreak watched from the back._

_They can't keep her in there forever. I wonder what they're going to do. I'll have to talk to Optimus about it when I come back._

_Anyway, I have to go. I'm meeting Bee in the rec room for yet another planning session. He's promised me hot chocolate._

* * *

I don't realize that I've fallen asleep until I wake up. I'm groggy and my head's not quite there, so it takes me a few moments to recognize where I am. Bumblebee's holoform is asleep as well and lying across my legs.

We've both fallen asleep mid-planning session. If that's not a sure sign that we've spent too much time doing this, I don't know what is.

The rec room's dark, so we must have been here a while. I raise my head, trying to figure out what woke me. It can't have been Bee, although now that I'm moving he's waking up too.

Then I realize I can hear voices. And other noises.

I poke Bee carefully, holding a finger over my lips to tell him to be silent. Then I mime listening. After a moment, his face splits in a shit-eating grin, and he turns soundlessly to look over the back of the couch, out towards the rest of the room.

I turn, too, but with far less grace. Maybe he's rigged his holoform to be quiet.

There are two holoforms standing against the wall a little way away from us. The curly-haired one with his back to the wall is new to me – he's handsome, rugged even, looks like he's just come down from a hike and is getting ready to start the fire so he can prepare the catch of the day. And his head is leant backwards and slightly to the side, mouth slightly open, eyes closed, arms holding tightly onto his partner, who's busy mouthing on his neck.

The other holoform is Mirage.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," Mirage purrs quietly. I've heard that tone before.

The other one moans. "As much… as I've missed you, maybe?"

"More," Mirage replies. "Because I have been stuck on this planet that's perfect for you without you to share it with."

"Perfect for me?" Strong fists close at the back of Mirage's shirt. "Really?"

"Yes, full of those nice views and wild places and squishy organic things that you like," Mirage chuckles. "All sorts of local wildlife." Pale hands move across curly's chest, sneaking under the shirt. "And no Hound."

Oh, so this is Hound. I shoot a glance at Bumblebee to see if this is news for him. He's giggling silently.

So much for just looking juvenile. Bee's acting the part now.

"Mmm, 'Raj, there," Hound moans. "Primus, you're good at this."

Those quiet chuckles again. I've heard those before too. "I've practiced. It was hard, being without you. I took comfort where I could find it."

"Good," Hound gasps. "I'm glad. I did hear you've been – nngh – sampling the local merchandise."

I frown slightly at that. Does he mean me?

"Yes, I confess I've been slumming." Mirage mouths along Hound's jaw, hands sliding up to cup the other's head. "You've been here less than two days and you've already attuned to the gossip? What did they say?"

"That you've been – oh, holy Primus – getting your cables stroked by that little blonde," Hound pants.

Yep, he did mean me. I sit back down, trying to avoid seeing Bee's incredulous look.

Slumming? Really?

Not that 'sampling the local merchandise' is much better…

"Yes, well, as I said," Mirage murmurs against his lover's throat, "it was hard being without you."

"You know I don't mind, lover," Hound gasps, keening a little. "I know who holds your spark. How was she?"

I don't want to hear this. Who discusses previous lovers during a makeout session like this?

Bumblebee, though, his ears are practically on stalks.

"It was enjoyable enough, I suppose. To be honest, she made me miss you more." Mirage gasps suddenly. "Oh, Primus, you… Hound… That is perfect."

"My pleasure, love. So that kind of quality, huh? Was she at least a passable distraction?"

I'm not listening. And I'm not seeing Bee's surprised look, either. Nope.

"Yes, that kind of quality. Passable, to a degree, but to be honest, I didn't mind all that much passing her on to First Aid. She was becoming… unexciting, anyway."

"I'm sorry, Mirage," Hound gasps.

"Don't be," Mirage purrs. "She's just a human, she's not worth it. Yes, she does have her charms, but she can't compare to a Cybertronian, and especially not to you, mate of mine. Oh, Primus, yes, like that….!"

I can feel my bottom lip wanting to tremble. I knew Mirage was arrogant, but I never dreamed he saw me as _inferior_. I mean, he was the one seducing me, not the other way around.

Suddenly, it's all too much. I look around frantically for an escape route that won't take me past my ex-lover.

Bumblebee's hands are suddenly on mine. I look up at him, a bit surprised at the angry look on his face.

"Be quiet," he whispers soundlessly. "Don't move."

I nod, barely, curling more tightly in on myself.

Bee sits up, languidly, arms leaning on the back of the couch and elbows resting on his hands. "Before you mechs go any further, I think I should tell you that you're not alone."

There's a sudden, dead silence.

"Bumblebee?" Mirage says. He sounds incredulous. "What are you doing here?"

Bee shrugs. "Trying to get a decent night's recharge." He grins. "No point asking what you two are doing here, that's painfully obvious. Hey, Hound."

"Hi, Bumblebee. Long time no see." There's wry humor in that voice.

"Bumblebee, do you not have a berth?" Mirage asks snidely.

"Yeah, sure." Bee shrugs again. "But between Blue and Fireflight and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker my place has turned into a den of lust, if you know what I mean. So I fled."

"Well, so much for privacy." Hound sighs. "Sorry, 'Raj."

"Privacy, huh? I bet you two haven't seen each other for a long time." Bee tilts his head slightly. "Are you really bonded?"

Another silence. I think it must be because that's a rude question. Also, it totally proves that he was listening.

"Yes, we are," Hound replies at last. "For vorns now."

"And I thought I lost him," Mirage whispers.

"Not so," Hound replies fiercely. "I was always coming to find you."

Bee sighs theatrically. "Well, you two are just adorable, aren't you? Oh, what the slag. Here." His eyes unfocus for a moment. "That's where the key to the theater is. Lock the door behind you after you've gone inside, yeah?"

"Thanks, Bee," Hound says. "I appreciate it."

"Likewise," Mirage breathes. "Come on, Hound."

"Yeah, yeah," Bee grins. "Go away and let me recharge in peace."

The door closes behind them. Bumblebee watches me silently for a moment.

Then I force a chuckle. "Well, that was certainly educational." My tone comes out even drier than I intended.

Bee reaches out towards me hesitantly. "I'm sure Mirage didn't mean that the way it sounded, Isobel."

I snort. "Of course he did. He meant every word. Why wouldn't he? He didn't know I was here, he didn't have to spare my feelings."

"He could have just been trying to appease Hound," Bee says quietly.

"Please, Hound didn't need appeasement. He was _encouraging_." I sigh. "Nah, Bee. That happened." Then I laugh grimly. "You know what sucks? I know Mirage and I weren't actually talking, outside of bed, but I actually thought we were friends. That's what hurts." My lower lip is threatening to tremble again. "I don't mind that he basically cheated on his bondmate with me – I can understand the need for comfort, at least clinically, and Hound didn't sound like he minded, so that's okay. And it's not like we were ever anything serious, it was always just a physical thing. No. What hurts is that he thinks I'm worth that little. That I'm not good enough." I sigh, try grinning, but it comes out more like a grimace. "I suppose it's time that I wake up and see which way the wind is blowing."

"What do you mean, Isobel?" Bumblebee asks cautiously.

"I mean that it's becoming blatantly obvious that I don't belong with you guys," I reply matter-of-factly. "I'm just human. I'm not worth it." I do grin then. "You know, when I first realized what First Aid wanted, I freaked out because it just made no sense. And then I forgot how little sense it made when I started falling for him. And now I've been reminded at least four times in the last month that it really doesn't make any sense."

"I don't understand."

"I'm just a human," I repeat. "The key word being 'just'. There is no equality here, there never was. I'm just kidding myself into believing that that doesn't matter. You know, I get Hot Spot now."

"Hot Spot… About what he told you?" Bumblebee sounds genuinely confused. I don't blame him – I'm rambling, I can hear it. But everything is suddenly so damned _clear_. Clear as broken glass.

"Yeah, when he said he wished First Aid had never met me," I nod. "He was probably right. They're right to dislike me, a simple human isn't worthy of their brother. Heh." I giggle bitterly. "So Laserbeak would have killed me on sight, Sides and Sunny think I'm a puny civilian that they can use to get something out of it themselves, Aid's brothers would rather I weren't here at all, and Mirage thinks I'm inferior. I think the picture is starting to become pretty convincing, don't you?" I get up, assemble my stuff and walk around the couch. "Thanks for getting them out of here, Bee. At least I have some dignity intact. I'll see you on the plane tomorrow morning." I ignore the splutters and half-phrased sentences as I turn and walk briskly through the door, heading for my flat.

* * *

It's a good thing that it's a long flight, because I didn't sleep much last night. First Aid was there, of course, but his touch didn't soothe me for once, and though he slept soundly I barely closed my eyes.

The plane is smaller than the one that carried all the Autobots, which makes sense, since it's only carrying one this time as well as the puny human. But just as I start following Bee up the ramp, another 'bot sneaks in front of me.

"Room for one more?"

"Groove?" I tilt my head, look up at the brown and white mech. "Yeah, sure, but why?"

"Bee said he needed someone else to carry the shopping," he grins easily, "so I invited myself along."

"Well, okay," I sigh. "As long as Prime's okay with it. You know, you're breaking up Defensor."

He shrugs. "Defensor doesn't work when Aid stays here anyway, we've only needed him the once in the last six months. And I got Prime's permission to come."

"Fine." I turn and start walking up the ramp. "I'll see you in London."

I can feel both Groove's and Bumblebee's optics on my neck. I ignore them. Bee said he would spend the trip in recharge, but now that Groove's coming too I guess they'll be gossiping all the way.

Bee hasn't said anything, but I'll bet my left shoe that he's not happy with my mood today. Neither was First Aid when I said goodbye to him this morning. He tried to get it out of me, but for once I wasn't telling.

That made him really worried. Which of course made me feel really guilty. Which, again, proves Hot Spot's point. I can pretend, but I can't keep up.

I guess I haven't been fooling anyone but myself.

I take a seat that lets me look out the window, and fasten the belt. The plane taxes slowly around, before speeding down the runway. As take-off jolts me, I look out at the white beaches and green jungle. Diego Garcia slowly shrinks underneath me, a pale jewel in the ocean.

I lean back, close my eyes. I don't want to think of anything before we land. The airplane engines are soothing, and I'm almost asleep before the base is out of sight.

For a moment, I wonder if I will even come back.

I guess I will, though. It's not like I can resist those blue eyes.


	18. Big city perspective

Going away helps. Even breathing the grey air of London helps. There's something about the hectic excitement and unbridled chaos of pre-Christmas London that makes it hard to maintain a funk. Plus, I love this city. It always somehow feels like coming home.

Of course, no sooner have we arrived in our room – mostly my room, since the two mechs can recharge in their alt modes most of the time – before Groove and Bumblebee sit me down for a chat.

"Isobel, we need to talk about what we heard," Bumblebee says seriously. He's sitting on the bed with his legs crossed under him.

"You told Groove?" I ask, looking from one to the other with a frown. The Protectobot motorcycle-former is sitting on the room's lone chair, one ankle resting on the other knee, eyeing me calmly. "Yeah, of course you told Groove."

"Had to," Bee shrugs. "He's going to be here with us for a week, and besides, he's practically your family, Isobel. He needed to know."

I sigh, dumping down on the other end of the bed. "I'm not sure anybody needed to know that filth that Mirage was spouting. But okay. Talk."

Bumblebee twists until he's facing me again, pulling one of my feet into his lap and rubbing it gently. "Were you and him really involved?"

I drop back against the headboard. "Yeah. It was a purely physical thing, lasting from the Pirate movie night up until you guys came back from California and I'd finally realized how I felt about First Aid. Then I broke it off." I snort, remembering back. "Mirage was rude then, too. He called First Aid a youngling, said I should let him know when I wanted a real mech. Dumb-aft."

Bee grins. "Well, yeah, we know he's an idiot. So you threw him out, huh?"

"Yep." I pop the 'p', stare up at the ceiling. "Though apparently, I was doing him a favor, since I was getting… what was the phrase? Oh yeah. _Unexciting._ "

"But if you don't care about Mirage that way, what does it matter what he thinks?" Groove sounds confused. "If you love my brother, why does Mirage's words hurt?"

"I do love your brother, Groove," I sigh. "And I don't give two figs for Mirage, not like that. But you don't get it. It's not just _his_ words. I've been hearing words like that a lot lately."

Bumblebee takes hold of my other foot. "This has to do with last week, when everyone forgot you were there, doesn't it?"

"Of course it does. And the day you came back, when Hot Spot said I was unwelcome at the med bay since they didn't want any puny human getting in the way. And Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, three weeks before that, saying that a puny squishy civilian human shouldn't be put in front of Decepticon prisoners. That it's okay to use me for my job, since I'm doing that for the humans anyway and the Autobots may as well take advantage, but I'm not your equal and can't be treated like I am." I turn away so neither of them can see my face. "The Protectobots saying I'm not good enough for their brother. That it would have been better if we'd never met."

There's pressure on the mattress behind me, and Groove's cool fingers are suddenly on my cheek, stroking gently. "You have to know that we don't all mean that. Hot Spot is just scared. First Aid cares so much, he's so easily hurt."

"Yeah," I whisper, fighting the tears in my eyes. "And I will hurt him. And I don't want to. Don't you see?" I squeeze my eyes shut once before turning back to look at him and Bumblebee both. "First Aid's the best thing that's ever happened to me. And now I'm being told from every side that I'm not good enough for him, that I'm not worthy of him. That I'm inferior to all of you, barely worth noticing." I snort, a bitter, sharp sound. "Barely noticeable, easy to ignore, of little real value compared to you."

"Isobel, that's not true." Bumblebee's crawled up to sit next to me, hands taking mine.

"I wish it wasn't," I shake my head. "But it is, isn't it? Do you realize that among the Autobots that I call friends, half of you have been mean to me in the last month? Intentionally or otherwise. You, Blaster, Bluestreak and Arcee are the only ones who haven't." I draw an unsteady breath, blinking again. God-damned tears. "No, it's true, Bee. Much as I'd prefer otherwise."

Groove's fingers move on my temple, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "Isobel, why do you insist on seeing yourself in such a bad light?"

I turn towards him. "Why do you insist that I'm seeing myself wrongly?"

He chuckles. Groove actually chuckles, even while I'm still fighting back tears.

For a moment, I want to maim him. Thankfully, it passes quickly.

"Because, Isobel, you have got it wrong. Yes, we're not the same species. Yes, there are differences in longevity and size and strength and composition. But that doesn't mean you're worth less than a Cybertronian." His fingers caress my face, for a moment so like his brother's it's enough to give me goosebumps as he pulls gently at my chin to get me to look at him. "Different. Not less. Just different."

"And that's a good thing?" I ask dubiously.

"It is," he replies simply. "Isobel, you're precious. You're to be treasured, sheltered, defended, valued. We need your understanding and your outlook. We need someone who looks at a captive Decepticon and doesn't see an enemy, who can treat our history as just what it is – history. We need you."

Wow. I'd say he's laying it on a bit thick, but judging from his face, I think Groove is saying it as he thinks it. Which is astounding, to say the least.

Who walks around thinking stuff like that?

And of course, I'm ignoring the little voice in my head that accuses me of thinking snarky thoughts merely as an act of self-defense.

Also, it's not like those words are taking away a weight I didn't realize was there. Nuh-uh. That's probably just because this is a very comfy bed. That's exactly what it is.

Still…

"I think your brother's emotions must have skewed your perspective," I reply, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"Well, maybe," he grins, one finger stroking under my eye. "But not as much as you think. I make my own decisions. Anyway, got rid of those tears."

"Aha, you're flattering me to shut down the waterworks," I quip. "Don't know how to deal with those, huh."

"Wrong again," he murmurs, fingers still moving on my cheek. "I meant every word."

"He's right, you know," Bumblebee interjects conversationally. "We do need your outlook."

I'm ashamed to admit that I'd almost forgotten that he was there. Groove's eyes are the same as First Aid's – easy to get lost in. Though his eyelashes are shorter. Thank goodness for that, or we might have real problems.

I turn to Bumblebee, raise an eyebrow. "You need more people without a common sense and a normal level of self-preservation?"

He laughs at that. "Yeah, that too. But I was thinking more about your local knowledge." He holds up a giant map covered in tiny annotations and shoots me a truly evil grin. "Ready to go shopping?"

* * *

_I LOVE THIS CITY!_

_Even staying away from the absolute worst tourist traps (cough Oxford Street cough cough) there are Christmas lights everywhere, santas on absolutely every Christmas corner, loud music from every store, and absolute chaos. I've had so much fun these last two days, dragging my two Autobots around with me. They stare at everything just like little kids!_

_Groove being a motorcycle is a blessing. Bee can't really drive around in this city, we'd never get anywhere. So we've used the tube, some, and more often I've hitched a ride with Groove, sitting behind his holoform. It makes it easier for him, too, since he can't move that far from his body. Bumblebee is better at that for some reason – he says it has something to do with him being a scout, he has a larger sensor range. Whatever that means._

_Anyway, yesterday we spent at least three hours at Forbidden Planet, and I got to check off Arcee, Prowl, Ratchet (partially) and Streetwise from my list. I also got some board games for the rec room, and I got to show Bumblebee and Groove a few of the comics that make use of giant alien robots. The guys made me buy a few X-Men trade paperbacks and bring back to the island – apparently, there's an extra level of irony in that the robots are called sentinels, though Bee didn't explain why._

_Just around the corner from Forbidden Planet there's a street full of music stores, so I got to check off Blaster and Jazz as well. If we keep this pace up, we'll have a few days to be tourists, which would also be awesome. I want to show the guys the sights._

_Groove keeps looking at me funny. When I asked him about it, he said he was saving image files and transmitting them to First Aid over their bond. Apparently, they can communicate instantly even in holoform, as long as they're both awake._

_He said he's sent First Aid over 250 images so far._

_It's crazy. I wonder if he's even had time to look at anything but me. But he says that First Aid really appreciates it, so I'm letting it go._

_I'm starting to realize that there isn't much I won't do for my Protectobot._

* * *

Groove slows to a stop in front of the store, parking in a spot that seems to be designated for motorbikes. I let go of the holoform and climb off, a bit stiffly – this would have worked better in a warm place like Sydney or L.A – before turning to look.

"Okay," I announce, looking at the shop windows. "I'm going to lean on your expertise here. This is so far out of my comfort zone I don't even know where to begin."

Groove comes to stand next to me, unclasping the helmet from under my chin and tugging it off gently. "Don't worry. Bee knows what to get. He's meeting us inside."

"Okay," I agree. "Point me at the right stuff, and I'll pay for it."

Groove puts a hand on my pack and pushes me gently forward, opening the shop door for me when we get to it. Bumblebee's just inside, waiting for us.

I stop and look around.

It's interesting. I have a feeling that this store is like Forbidden Planet to car people.

There are shelves with jars and jars of car wax and polish, and another one full of stereos and sat navs and such, and then a whole lot of shelving full of shiny chrome and soft leather and other things I couldn't identify if you paid me to.

"Whoa," I exclaim. "This is intense."

"Can I help you?"

The speaker is a young man, younger than me, with short dark hair standing in all directions on his head. His name tag says 'Hi, I'm Mikey.'

"Hi, Mikey, I'm Isobel, and I think you might," I reply with a smile. "I have a couple of friends whose cars are their life, so to speak. And I'm looking for Christmas presents."

The guy grins at that. "Oh, cool. What kind of cars?"

That stumps me. I have no idea. "Um. I'm really clueless on cars. One of them has a Ferrari, I think?"

Bumblebee sniggers at me. "Nah, Isobel, that's Raj, he has a Ferrari 458. Sides has a Centennial Corvette, Sunny has a Lamborghini Gallardo, Jazz has a Pontiac Solstice."

Mikey just gapes. "Um. Wow. Those are some high-end vehicles."

I shrug. "Apparently. As I said, I'm really not that big on sports cars. But you can help me, right?"

He grins excitedly again. "Oh, absolutely. You know, it's not that often people come in here and want stuff for that kind of flashy. Mostly people are pimping their second-rate Nissans and Volkswagens, sometimes I get lucky and get a Mercedes or Aston Martin. I've never had a sports car customer before. So I'm going to show you the really good stuff, okay?"

I grin. "Brilliant."

As we follow Mikey, I notice Bumblebee's grinning. "What's up?"

"Second-rate Nissans," he smirks. "Prowl's alt mode's a Nissan. Blue's too."

I giggle. "That is funny. Second-rate nothing."

"Well, honestly, Blue and Prowl are probably more fancy than most. I think even Mikey here would like them."

The sales guy stops in front of a shelf in the back of the store. It's obviously something special – the lights are angled to show off the shiny merchandise, there are posters of muscle cars on either side, and there's actual carpeting on the floor.

Bumblebee makes straight for one of the jars. "Isobel, if you get this for Sunny he will worship you. He used to get this when we lived in the states, he's always complaining that he can't get it now."

I take the smallish tin from him, look at the price.

I have entire outfits cheaper than this.

"Okay. Um. How long does a tin last?"

"With careful use, two or three treatments," Mikey says. "It's a good choice, though. It's a big seller at our department near Chelsea. That's where the people who can afford fancy cars live."

I look from the tin to the price tag and back. It's a fairly hefty price for wax.

"If it helps, Sunny'll have a tin for months," Bee supplies. "He's so careful of the finish. Sides is worse. I actually wouldn't buy him a wax this expensive. I'd take this one, Sides likes this." He picks another tin, at about half the price of the first.

Mikey looks at him appraisingly. "You a petrolhead too?"

"Mine's a Camaro," Bee smirks. "So not quite that high-end, but still fancy."

"American muscle car," Mikey nods. "Smooth drive. Though I don't imagine you get the greatest fuel-to-mileage ratio?"

I wander along the shelves, away from the talk that quickly goes way over my head. Groove shadows me quietly.

Away from the luxury items, there are things I understand again. I look at the bumper stickers, the body styling, the signs, the novelty plates.

"Oh!" I grin, pick out a neon sign and show it to Groove. "What do you think?"

The sign is a human fist, middle finger extended. Groove grins, looks at me. "Sideswipe?"

"Sideswipe," I nod eagerly. "And these." I pick up a pack of bodywork stickers made to look like bullet holes and claw marks. "Or do you think they'll itch?"

Groove's eyes unfocus for a moment. "First Aid says that Sides has thinner plating than Sunstreaker, but he's still a frontliner. He shouldn't even feel them."

"Brilliant," I grin wickedly, picking up another one of each. I figure Blades might think they're fun, too, maybe a few of the others – and unlike Sunny's polish, these things are cheap.

With the stickers and signs in my arms, we head back to Bee and the store clerk. They're still talking, unsurprisingly.

Mikey looks at the things I'm carrying. "Novelty items? For such high-end cars?"

"High-end cars with gutter-brained drivers," I grin. "They'll find this hilarious."

"Your friends must have money to burn, if they can treat Lambos and Ferraris like that," Mikey says skeptically.

"Oh, these aren't for the Lamborghini," I reply. "No, he wouldn't be caught dead with these. They're for the Corvette, and a few other friends I have with less fancy vehicles."

Mikey nods, still looking doubtful. "Well, okay." He turns to Bumblebee, help him carry the tins they've picked out. Then he looks at me and winks. "You know, you'd almost think your friends are Autobots, with those vehicles and the way you're talking about them."

"Auto-what?" I reply, raising my eyebrows at him. I can see Bumblebee freezing slightly. He doesn't need to worry, though.

"Autobots," Mikey replies, grinning. "You know, those giant metal robots?"

"Like on the news?" I pretend to realize. "I saw something about that, there was fighting in California or something, right? Didn't know they had a name."

"That's them," Mikey nods. "They become really flashy cars, too. There's a Pontiac, a Peterbilt, a Topkick, a Ferrari, at least one Lamborghini, a Corvette…" Suddenly he looks up sharply, eyeing Bumblebee. "A Camaro." His stare, suddenly intense, is moving from Bee, to Groove, to myself.

I dump my shopping on the desk and grin. "That's cool. I wonder if Sides and Sunny know that. Hey, do you have any bumper stickers that say 'Autobot'?"

Mikey eyes us, frowning, for another few moments, then relaxes. "I've got 'My other car is an Autobot'," he grins.

"Excellent," I smirk. "I'm getting some of those."

* * *

"That was lucky," Bumblebee comments as we walk away from the auto store. "I thought he would guess it for a moment there."

"Nah," I shake my head. "It was too unlikely. The human brain is wired to fool itself, and apparently it was too unlikely for Autobots to actually be in his store for it to be true. So he fooled himself into thinking that we couldn't be affiliated with the Autobots."

"Still lucky," Groove comments. "I'm glad he disregarded the idea, though. Prime won't be happy if we draw too much attention to ourselves."

"It's probably good we didn't come here with you, Bee," I agree. "He would have been all over you. I don't think he'll connect a motorcycle to the Autobots."

"Probably not," Bumblebee nods, smiling. "One of the benefits of being me, and one of the benefits of being Groove. Though I bet it sucks carrying bags on the motorcycle." He smirks at the Protectobot, who winks back, taking the bags and straddling the motorbike.

And then the bags disappear.

"Huh," Bumblebee says, rocking back on his heels. "Extended subspace capabilities. Nice."

Groove smirks, arrogantly, while putting on his helmet. "See you back at the hotel, mechling."

"Likewise, brat," Bee chuckles, throwing us a salute and turning on his heel, heading for the alley next to the store.

I climb up behind Groove and put my helmet on before putting my arms around his waist. "Mechling?"

"Bee's young," he replies. I can hear the grin in his voice. "Then again, so am I. You ready?"

I tighten my arms in response, and then we're off.

The first day we did this, I was panicking the whole time. London's heavily trafficked, with cars and bikes and buses and craziness, and this time of year there are pedestrians everywhere as well. I spent a lot of time hiding my face behind Groove's back, too nervous to look.

Now, I trust him. I follow his lead in the turns, shifting my weight when he does, arms loosely connected around his waist. It's a great way to see the city, even with all the smog and the exhaust. Plus, he never gets lost – he always knows exactly where we are, seems to know all the shortcuts, and avoids the worst tourist traffic.

The next store we pass has me tugging at Groove's sleeve and pointing. Obligingly, he finds a parking spot and follows me back to it.

"A sports store?"

I turn to him and grin. "Eject."

A look of understanding dawns on his face. "Clever."

As we walk inside, the store turns out to be one of those huge things that cater to pretty much every type of sport there is. I spin in a slow circle to take it all in.

"Any idea what you're getting him?"

I nod. "You know how Eject's always saying that he'd prefer it if the war could be decided by a game?"

"It rings a bell," Groove grins. I'm willing to bet he's heard it a fair few times.

"Well," I grin back, "I'm getting him the means to end the war."

Groove just stares at me. Then he laughs. "That's brilliant. I'm calling Bee to meet us with the Camaro."

I nod and start walking.

Sports stores always remind me of Jeremy. He'd drag me in them to get some detail or other – a set of tennis balls, a soccer ball, a new catcher's glove – and make me try every piece of equipment we walked past. And I did it, too. I kicked or threw or rolled the balls, swung rackets and hockey sticks and baseball bats, tried biking helmets and climbing gear. And I never fell for any of it. The one triumph he had was when he got me to try out running and I got hooked.

But thanks to him, I know what to get Eject.

Groove comes up with a shopping cart. "So which game are we going for?"

"Oh, all of them," I grin. "Or not. We need something without physical contact, it's got to be a team thing, and it's got to be easy to learn. I'm thinking… Volleyball. Soccer. Baseball. Basketball." I grin at that. "Like Space Jam. Hit 'em high."

Groove's eyes unfocus for a moment, and then he laughs loudly. "Scarily apt, Isobel. Let's hope the Decepticons don't know any way to absorb talent like that."

I laugh along with him as I fill the cart with balls of different sizes, bats, gloves and a big net. Then I make a sudden detour, pick up a compound bow and two sets of arrows.

"For Bluestreak," I explain at Groove's raised eyebrows. "I think he'll think it's fun."

"Yeah, that's not a bad idea. Archery requires a different skill set than sniper rifles, and he's never going to need to kill anything with a bow and arrow. So it'll be something familiar to him, but still new and without bad memories attached." He smiles gently. "You know, you really are very clever."

I pretend to preen a bit, smirking. "Of course I am. This is known."

Groove just laughs at me and shakes his head. "Let's hope between your cleverness and Eject's mono-focus we can manage to end the war."

I smile a bit at that. "Hey, I know. It's probably never going to happen. Not in my lifetime, anyway. But it's still an awesome dream." I sigh shakily. "It would be good if no more of you had to die. No matter which side you're on."

Groove hesitates for a moment, then puts his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. "I wasn't making fun of you, Isobel. And you're right." He lets me go and pulls back, fingers under my chin lifting my face up. "It would be awesome, wouldn't it."

I pull away slightly, smiling at him to make sure he doesn't take offense. I'm not quite comfortable with how close he's decided to get. Especially when he reminds me that much of First Aid. "Yeah. Come on, let's go pay. Bee's probably not that far away."

* * *

_It really is a good thing that we've got a plane for the trip back. Because if not I'd need to travel with at least four suitcases. And the week is only half-done._

_I've begged tomorrow off from my two Autobot minders, since I have to get them presents as well. And I'd like to do some shopping on my own part. So they're heading out to stretch their legs – or their wheels, I guess – on one of the major highways. I've been given an external comm unit that looks like a cell phone so I can reach them. It's really fancy, and thankfully it's not hard to use._

_Bumblebee also promised me that it wouldn't explode, even though Wheeljack built it._

_It'll be good with some alone time again. The boys have left me alone at night, but we've sat up late every evening watching TV or talking or planning, and they've met me for breakfast every morning, so I haven't had that much time to myself. And me and this city are old friends; there are some places I want to go see again, without having to explain why to Groove and Bumblebee._

_So tomorrow, it's Waterstones. And it's the Desigual store. And then, I think, the museum store in Kensington. Maybe. I haven't decided yet._

_After that, we have a day for shopping party supplies, and a day for relaxing. And on Sunday, we're going home._

_Huh. I didn't actually think that I'd come to see Diego Garcia as home. I guess it's got everything to do with who's waiting for me there._

* * *

It feels like I've only just fallen asleep when I'm woken up by a soft chiming sound. Turns out it's the communicator thingy. Which is weird – it's in the middle of the night, but if Groove or Bumblebee wanted me for something, they'd just turn up in the hotel room. They've done that before.

I grasp at the little noisy device, but according to every alarm clock rule ever invented it slides away as I grasp at it and lands behind the nightstand, still chiming away. By the time I finally get at it I'm wide awake again, the bed covers are in a pile on the floor, and I'm thoroughly disgruntled.

"Whoever this is, you better have a damn good reason for getting me back out of bed," I growl into the device.

" _Is missing you reason enough?_ "

"First Aid," I breathe, sitting back down on the bed and pulling the covers back up. "Hi. Oh my God. I really miss you, too."

" _You can't imagine how nice it is to hear your voice, Isobel. Groove is constantly sending me pictures, which is great, but I've missed talking to you._ " I can hear him sighing over the comm. " _I can't imagine how you lasted being left behind for three weeks. It's been four days, and I'm a wreck._ " Then he chuckles. " _Hot Spot has banned me from training, he says my head's not in the game._ "

"He did? Wow, you must have really been out of it." I giggle, try to envision First Aid as being anything less than his perfect self. It doesn't compute. "So how are you?"

" _I'm okay. Can't wait to have you back, though. I'm glad they finally gave you the comm, so I could call you. My brother driving you crazy yet?_ "

"Nah, he's a sweetheart, and you know it," I grin. "Bee's worse, actually. But I'm getting the day to myself tomorrow, I have to get presents for them, too." I lie back, pull the covers up over me. "Speaking of which, do you have any suggestions as to what I can get Hot Spot?"

There's a pause. " _You're getting him something too?_ "

"Of course," I frown, "he's your brother."

" _I'm not sure he deserves you to be that nice to him_."

"Oh, shush," I murmur, smiling slightly. "Hot Spot's just looking out for you. He's getting a present. They all are."

" _If you say so, love_." I can hear the grin in his voice. Then he hesitates. " _Isobel, are you okay?_ "

"I'm okay. I think I needed this."

" _I think you did, too. You weren't happy when you left_."

I don't bother denying that. He knows me too well.

" _Want to tell me about it, love?_ "

I shrug, even though he can't see me. "It's a longish story, I'll tell you when I get back, okay? Short version is that I overheard someone say fairly nasty things about me that tied in a bit too well with other stuff that's been said or done recently. It made me feel like I wasn't worthy of you."

There's a wordless growl from the other end of the line.

"Don't be upset," I continue quietly. "Your brother and Bee talked me out of it. Groove really is a nice guy."

" _He is that. I'm so sorry, Isobel. I don't know how to convince you that you're perfect, though. But you believe me when I say I love you, don't you?_ "

"I do," I confirm. "And I love you back, you know. Don't worry, First Aid."

" _I can't help it, I care too much about you._ " The smile is back in his voice, though. " _I can't wait to see you. I'm missing you constantly._ " There's a wicked chuckle. " _When you get back, I'm going to kiss you until you forget your own name._ "

"That a promise?" My voice is low, sultry.

" _It's a guarantee,_ " he replies, his voice dropping down to the lower registers as well. " _I'm going to worship you._ "

I gasp, nipples hardening on their own, lower stomach clenching. Holy crap, that five words from him can have such an effect on me. Especially from the other side of the world. "Much as I like the sound of that, I'm supposed to be going to sleep, Aid." I giggle softly. "You're making it hard to relax."

" _I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm really not._ " I can hear the smirk. " _It's intoxicating, knowing that I can get to you like that. But relax, love._ " His voice turns impossibly soft, caressing. " _Sleep. I love you more than I know how to express. Go to sleep, Isobel._ "

His voice is impossible to resist. My eyes are sliding shut – helped, of course, by a very long and full day and the comfortable warmth I've managed to build up beneath the sheets. "I will," I mumble. "Love you, First Aid."

" _Love you too, Isobel. I'll see you soon._ "

I barely manage to put the comm back on the nightstand before I doze off.

* * *

The doorbell jingles as I push my way back into Mikey's store, alone this time. The guy behind the counter – 'Hi, I'm George' – looks up. "Can I help you?"

"Probably," I nod, "I was here yesterday and Mikey helped me."

"Oh, he's in the back, do you want to talk to him?" Muddy brown eyes twinkle at me. George is about ten years older than me, and he's got oil-stained fingers. "Oi, Mikey!"

The spiky-haired clerk comes out from an open door leading to what looks like a storage area. He brightens when he sees me. "Oh, hi! Isobel, right?"

"Hey, you remember," I grin back. "Yeah, I'm back. I need some more help."

"Hard to forget someone who comes in to shop for a Lamborghini," he grins, then leads the way back to the luxury shelf. "What can I do for you today?"

"I need a few more tins of each of those tins I got yesterday," I say, looking for them on the shelf. "I forgot someone. Also, you remember my friend from yesterday, with the yellow curls?"

"The kid with the Camaro, yeah, sure," he nods. "You need something for him, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure he's that into the wax and such, though. Did he say anything to you?"

"Yeah, he did. To be honest, you should get him this." He walks across the floor to a different set of shelves, picking up a couple of boxes. "These are blackout kits. He said he had a fairly noticeable paintjob, mostly black and yellow, but he thought there was too much shiny chrome and reflective lenses. These'll take care of that, blackening out everything, lights, chrome, the works – and he'll still be road legal." He eyes me speculative. "You know, I did some googling. The Autobot Camaro is black and yellow. And there is a Pontiac called Jazz. Wasn't that what they said your friend's name was?"

Crap. Mikey's much more perceptive than I gave him credit for.

And of course I hesitate for a moment too long, and now he knows something's up.

"It is them, isn't it," he asks quietly, quirking an eyebrow. When I still don't answer, he grins. "Don't worry, I haven't told anyone. And I'm not going to, not if you don't want me to. People will think I'm insane, anyway – Georgie barely believed me when I said I'd sold expensive wax for a Lambo. Autobot would blow his mind."

"Okay," I sigh. "Yeah, it's them. Please keep it secret, we're not supposed to kick up a fuss."

"You got it." Another wide grin. "So are you telling me I actually had a Transformer in my store yesterday somehow? They can take human form?"

"They can," I confirm, "and no, you had two." I take out my phone, google 'aliens battle California power plant', scroll among the pictures until I find Defensor. "My other friend is part of this giant."

"Bloody hell," Mikey gapes, staring. "You're kidding."

"That I am not. But I can't tell you any more than that."

"Fair enough." He picks up the blackout kits and the waxes, carrying them over to the counter for me. "Hey, tell the guys I'd love some pictures of how this turns out, okay?"

He's fairly clever, this one. George is still standing at the counter.

"I'll see what I can do," I reply. "Might take a while, though."

"No problem, I can wait." He winks at me.

"You the one with the Lamborghini Gallardo?" George asks me, wearing a friendly smile.

"Oh no, I don't even own a car," I grin as I pay. "No, that's a friend of mine. I haven't even sat in it, he's very protective of it."

"He should be," George nods, "that's a very beautiful car. Do you know the year?"

"I don't," I confess. "I really don't have the mind for cars. I can tell you it's a golden sort of yellow, that's about it."

Mikey shoots me a look – I just know he's going back to the computer to Google some more – but George laughs. "Well, that's something, I suppose."

Mikey packs up my stuff and hands me the bag along with the receipts. "Thanks for coming, Isobel. Have a merry Christmas!"

"You too!" I smile at both of them.

When I get outside, I move to put the receipts in my purse. But one of them isn't a receipt.

Mikey's scribbled his name and address on a piece of paper, slipping it to me right under George's nose.

I giggle a bit. I guess I'll have to see if I can get him that picture now.

* * *

The plane is different.

It's not the same airplane that took us to London. It's not even a military aircraft. This is huge, and white, with smallish wings and a really bulky body.

I suddenly know that this is not a plane.

I turn to help remove the rest of our luggage from the taxi that took me to the airport. A Camaro's not really built for carrying freight, and a motorbike even less so, so I took the journey to the airport alone, the taxi driver staring strangely at me the whole time.

I suppose I don't exactly look the type to travel with fifteen suitcases and assorted crates. Thank God I don't have to go through customs at a civilian airport with this.

Bumblebee comes cruising up next to me, his holoform emerging just as he slides to a stop. He greets the taxi driver with an easy smile, hefting the last of the luggage and hoisting it out of the trunk.

After a lot of hustle and bustle and extra tips to the taxi driver, I'm finally walking inside the spacious cabin of the not-plane. It's all one big room, with seats built for Cybertronians along the walls. At the front, a small seat has been jury rigged into place, fitting on top of one of the big ones.

Bumblebee and Groove transform next to me. "Hey, mech, it's good to see you!" Bumblebee laughs, one hand patting the wall of the cabin. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Bumblebee," a cheerful voice replies. "It is good to be with the Autobots again. The mission was long."

"Yeah, you don't have to tell me, I remember when they sent you out," Bee grins. "We thought you'd be gone for a year. You've been gone for at least ten!"

"Twelve," the voice replies.

"It was a recovery mission, wasn't it?" Groove asks. "Prime sent you and Hound out to find the others?"

"Yes," the voice says. "And we almost didn't make it."

"You'll have to tell us all about it on the way back," Bumblebee says, still grinning. Then he finally notices me staring at him, eyebrows raised, and facepalms.

Literally.

With a clang.

It doesn't sound healthy.

"Primus, Isobel, I'm sorry," he says, bending down to pick me up. "Skyfire, this is Isobel. Isobel, meet Skyfire. He's a shuttle-class flier."

"Nice to meet you," I say diplomatically. I don't really know where to look, there's no face looking back at me. Everything's just airplane cabin.

"It's nice to meet you, too," Skyfire replies. "I've heard much about you. Is it true that you nearly got Sideswipe and Sunstreaker arrested?"

I chuckle. "That's a bit of an exaggeration, and another long story. Tell you on the way?"

"Of course," Skyfire agrees. He sounds like he's grinning. "Strap her in, Bee, and we can take off."

Bumblebee lifts me up into the small seat and looks as I fasten the harness. No simple seatbelt here, no – it's a five-point padded crash harness, with reinforced buckles and safety straps.

I feel ridiculous.

"You look like a sparkling, sitting in that big seat," Bumblebee grins.

"I bet," I grumble. "Human babies are also transported in small carriers put in adult seats."

Groove wanders over to inspect, holding something behind his back. "Not bad. But you forgot about this."

I cant my head as he brings his hand out in front of him.

It's a helmet.

"Oh, hell no," I protest. "You have to be joking."

Bumblebee laughs loudly, as he straps himself in.

"It's just a precaution, Isobel," Groove says as he gently tugs the helmet onto my head and fastens the straps. "We can't risk any damage to your head. First Aid will have my plating if you're not in perfect shape when we get back."

I grumble and complain as he pulls the strap tight and straps himself in. He knows exactly which buttons to push, this one – threaten to tell First Aid, and I'm suddenly mellow as a kitten.

Damn it. Judging by Bumblebee's smirk, I'll never live this one down.

* * *

Skyfire is _fast_. We made the return trip in half the time it took to get there in the first place – apparently, we could have travelled even faster, but there was a distinct chance that that would have lead to me being smeared out across the bulkheads as so much organic waste, and nobody really wanted that. So Skyfire flew slowly, for my sake.

The helmet and crash harness suddenly made sense.

I can see Diego Garcia out the window now. I feel strange – both really keyed up, and really really nervous and apprehensive. I switch between bouncing in my seat and curling in on myself, to the point where Groove, who's been recharging in his alt mode for the last hour, forms his holoform to sit next to me with his arms around me.

"Calm down, Isobel," he murmurs against my ear. "I know you're worried, but it will be fine. You've been missed. They're going to be happy to see you." Then he grins. "First Aid's practically vibrating."

Well, that makes sense. I'm vibrating, too. Groove's arms help, but I'm still so full of energy I don't know what to do with myself.

As Skyfire touches down, I begin straining against the harness. It's not a conscious effort, I just can't stop myself. Groove chuckles in my ear, his arms still holding me back. "Wait. Please keep your seatbelt fastened until the aircraft has come to a full stop."

Bumblebee's laughing over on the other side of the cabin, and Skyfire's chuckling too. Damn Autobots. I swear Skyfire's taxing extra slowly just to taunt me.

"First Aid is outside?" I ask breathlessly. I strain to catch a glimpse of him, but the angle is all wrong.

"Mhm, he's waiting for you," Groove says, squeezing me gently. When I twist to look at him, he's grinning. "He's about as impatient as you are. It's hilarious to be in the middle of you right now - him out there feeling just the same as you in here. He's actually jealous of me right now, since I've got you right here and he doesn't."

"That's silly," I giggle, not caring about the high pitch the nerves have put in my voice. "First Aid hugs me all the time. He's not the only one that gets to do that."

"Good to know," Groove murmurs.

Finally, finally, after at least half of my lifetime, Skyfire slows. And stops. And opens the door to lower the loading ramp.

I've got the helmet and harness off and race out the door before the ramp is even fully down, jumping the last few feet to the ground and looking around eagerly.

And then I see him.

First Aid is standing in front of his alt mode, staring at me. Then he reaches for me, and I just run. I run until I crash into him hard enough to knock us both back against the ambulance, and we're both hugging each other tightly enough that I'm surprised no bones are breaking.

"Isobel," First Aid breathes into my ear. "Primus, love, I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too," I whisper back, burying my head against his neck. "I've missed you so much."

He just holds me tighter. I don't think he's ever going to let me go.

Not that I mind much.

"Hey, Isobel! You going to help unload all your stuff?"

I grin, lean my forehead against First Aid's. "I guess I have to go do that."

"I guess you do," he murmurs back. "Why don't we put your things in the back of my alt mode, and we can take it all back to your place?"

"Okay," I nod. I'm happy as long as he's coming with me.

I turn towards Bumblebee reluctantly, tugging at First Aid's hand to make him come with me. I don't have to tug very hard.

Bumblebee's smirking, shifting two suitcases in each large hand. "Come on, lovebirds, let's free poor Skyfire of all our stuff so he can transform."

"Of course," I reply, feeling guilty. "Sorry, Skyfire."

"Don't worry, Isobel," he laughs. "I could see First Aid bouncing on his suspensions from ten thousand feet. I understand your priorities."

I have to giggle at that.

Between the four of us we soon have the shuttle emptied and the ambulance filled. I'm just about ready to get into the front seat and leave with First Aid. But then Skyfire transforms, and I freeze.

Because he's _huge_. I mean gigantic. He's bigger even than Optimus Prime, and I've lived in apartment buildings smaller than Optimus Prime.

"Whoa," I breathe. "That's a sight."

The giant looks down at me, smiling slightly. And I'm struck by how kind he looks. Impulsively, I grin at him. And he lowers his hand to me.

I only hesitate for a moment before climbing onto it. Skyfire lifts me gently, higher up than I've been lifted like this before, until I'm close to his face.

"Hello, Isobel. It's nice to meet you in person."

I have to giggle at that. "Hey, Skyfire. It's nice to meet you, too. I'm glad you made it back to Earth in one piece."

"Two, actually," he chuckles. "But Ratchet and Wheeljack can fix pretty much anything. As you can see, I'm fit for flight."

"I'm glad. Thank you for picking us up."

"That was my pleasure," he smiles gently. "I enjoy every opportunity to stretch my wings, even within atmosphere. And I enjoyed talking with all of you."

"Likewise," I grin. "I'd love to hear more about all that space-exploring at some point."

He grins at that. "I have promised Fireflight and Bluestreak to tell them stories tomorrow night in my quarters. Perhaps you want to come?"

"I'd love to," I nod eagerly. This is not in my files, and the chance to hear about other planets from an alien who's visited them – I wouldn't be much of a sci-fi geek if I refused, really.

"That's good," he says, lowering me back down. "I shall see you tomorrow, then."

"Thanks, Skyfire!" I wave at him as I climb into the ambulance.

And then I'm instantly engulfed by First Aid. Not just the car, though that speeds away faster than he's ever driven with me before, but by the holoform too – arms around me, holding me close, lips pressing against mine. Eagerly, insistently, craving every inch of me.

And I love it. I try to reciprocate, lifting my hands to his shoulders, but First Aid growls quietly in the back of his throat and pins my arms to my side.

"No. Remember what I told you on the comm?"

How could I forget? Those two sentences kept me tossing and turning half the night. I couldn't sleep until after I'd taken a long hot shower with some creative self-care thrown in.

"I can still remember my name," I whisper back.

And I get exactly the reaction I'm hoping for. Another of those low growls – and holy crap, that sound goes straight to my ovaries, I swear – and First Aid's mouth back on mine.

I barely notice when he slows to a stop outside my place, opening the door and carrying me inside. He's finally allowed me to put my arms around his neck, and when he puts me down on my bed I pull him down with me. That's all I'm allowed to do, though – First Aid takes my hands, holding my wrists next to my head, still kissing me.

"I love you," I gasp, as his lips move from my mouth down my neck.

"I love you too," he murmurs against my throat. "Remember your name?"

"Yeah, I'm Isobel," I whisper, smiling.

"Slag." He lets go of my hands suddenly, taking hold of my shirt and pulling it over my head in one easy motion. "I'll have to try harder."

Hooooooooooooly crap… I don't know if I can live through First Aid trying harder, at least not without screaming myself hoarse. His mouth is everywhere, his hands constantly stroking, and I am still not allowed to reciprocate. It's driving me slowly insane in a really, really good way. And when he unbuttons my jeans and pull the rest of my clothes off, fingers running up from my ankles, ghosting along the inside of my legs, while his mouth moves down across my breasts and stomach... And then he lifts my leg up to lie on his shoulder before bending down again, his mouth moving on me, little kitten licks and kisses across my hip right where the skin is thin and then down, down, oh my God…

I scream. I scream until I can't remember my name, I can only remember his, and I scream it out as I climax, clinging tightly to his shoulders.

Later, when we're both finally sated – and I can't believe how long that took, Primus, this mech has stamina – I'm lying in First Aid's arms, snuggled up as tight as I can get, though still feeling it's not close enough. His fingers are moving softly on my back, stroking up and down, up and down. It's soothing, calming, and I'm almost asleep when he opens his mouth.

"Groove told me what Mirage said."

I sit up suddenly, staring at him. He's frowning at me, which I don't like at all. So I look away, that shamed feeling reappearing. "That wasn't his story to tell."

"I know," he agrees, "but he thought I had to know, and I agree. Come here." He pulls me back down, and reluctantly I let myself be pulled back into the position I'd had before he opened his mouth. His fingers begin their stroking again.

"Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Isobel." With my ear pressed to his chest and my head tucked under his chin, I can hear the low rumble in the back of his throat. "I am in love with you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone or anything in my life, up to and including my brothers. I don't care that we're not the same species. I don't care that people think I'm wrong for you."

That throws me. People think he's wrong for me? Not the other way around?

"I don't even care that our relationship is going to end with you dying while I'm still barely an adult. I don't care about that at all. All I care about, is you. And I refuse to let you walk around and believe that you're somehow not good enough for me, that you're not worth it, when you are my entire world. I won't have it." His voice hitches a bit at that, and he hesitates. When he continues, it sounds like he's forcing his words out, like he's fighting some intense emotion.

He sounds like me when I'm crying.

"I love you. Without you, I wouldn't know what to do. And if my brothers take offense at that, if the other Autobots take offense at that, then that's their problem. I refuse to let their bigoted, opinionated, rude, arrogant ways ruin what I have with you. So I won't let you pull away from me, you hear? I won't let you get away." He swallows audibly. "I'll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to."

At that, I sit up. I look into his eyes, those blue eyes framed by long, gorgeous eyelashes, behind the pale visor. His eyes are burning with emotion.

"Hey," I say softly, raising a hand to trace down his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere. Listen to me," I command, as his eyes have started looking away from me. "Listen to me. I am not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here with you."

"You promise?" His voice is barely audible, and he's looking at me like he's afraid I'll fade away if he breathes at me too hard.

"I promise." I lean in, kiss his lips gently. "I won't let them get to me anymore. I'm staying right here."

First Aid moans, throwing his arms around me and pulling me close, pressing his face into the base of my neck. "I was afraid," he admits, one hand rising to the back of my head. "When you left in that mood. I was afraid that – that you'd leave."

"So was I," I confess. "But I could never leave you. I never could. I never will."

"Good," he breathes, lying down and pulling me down on top of him. "Good." Then he chuckles. "Welcome home, Isobel."

"Glad to be home," I whisper, smiling as well.

He's right. It is home, in a way that no other base I've worked at has ever been. In a way I haven't had since my father died, and since Jeremy started going off the deep end. I'm home.

And there's no way in pit I'm going to mess that up now.


	19. Confrontations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this from Washington DC, so for once I'm in the same general time zone as most of you readers! And if you have any tips to what I should be looking into while here, any hidden treasures or tiny stores, drop me a line!

_It was surprisingly easy to fall back into a normal routine at Diego Garcia (once I got over the jet lag that is). And even that went better than expected. Granted, I spent most of the first day tangled up with First Aid in the very best way possible, so I didn't really notice what time it was then. First Aid made sure I was plenty distracted._

_It's scary, actually, how big a part of my life he's becoming. We're way past the point of no return, here._

_Not that I think there ever was a return point, really._

_Anyway, most of this week had flown by. I've worked, been picked up by First Aid, eaten dinner, and then spent the rest of the evening either wrapping Christmas gifts (of which there are a lot, and thank God I had the providence to also by cartons full of wrapping paper, ribbons, tags and tape) or setting up the theater for the Christmas party. Bumblebee went more than a little insane on the day we were party shopping – I think we have enough decorations for three Christmas parties. He was so in heaven though, I didn't have the heart to refuse him._

_First Aid's been helping me on the evenings where his brothers didn't need him. He's a natural at wrapping - some of the knots he ties are works of art. Must be those sensitive medic's fingers. And he's good at keeping secrets, too, so it's okay that he knows what everyone's getting. It's reassuring to have him approve some of the more questionable items I've gotten for the others. I especially don't want to step wrong with his brothers, they don't need another reason to dislike me._

_I went by to see Rewind yesterday, to ask him to help me get First Aid's present ready. Rewind's a dear, and I know I thought he was cheerful before, but now he's downright ecstatic. He's constantly chatting, always smiling, and seems to brighten up a room whenever he walks in. First Aid said he was projecting happiness, don't know what that means. Apparently I need to read my files again._

_Rewind said he'd help, of course. So he's going to meet me on the morning of the twenty-fourth, so I have time to wrap the present up before giving it away._

_I also went by to see Laserbeak yesterday. She seemed happy to see me, but she was in worse shape than when I left. Not that anyone's hurt her – I just think she's so genuinely unhappy that it's starting to show on the outside. I thought about bringing Rewind down there, since he's so happy; maybe it'll rub off on her._

_Or maybe not. He's happy because his brothers are back. Laserbeak is missing hers. It could be like rubbing salt in the wound._

_Maybe Eject, though. He's usually quite happy as well, but he's not quite as exuberant as his brother these days. It might do her some good to see another cassette. I can ask Blaster._

_And I have to talk to Optimus. It's not that Laserbeak's being maltreated, exactly, but she's suffering. I don't think he wants that. Plus, I want to know what his plan is. He better have one._

* * *

The door is as huge as before, but at least this time it's open. So I just stick my head in.

"Optimus? Do you have a few minutes?"

"Isobel? Come on in," Optimus replies. He's sitting behind his desk, and Ironhide's standing at the other side of it.

"Thanks. I won't take long, I promise." I walk as fast as I can while still remaining dignified, but it's still several minutes before I get to his desk. Damned Autobot-sized room.

Ironhide bends down to offer me a lift up to the desktop. "Is this a personal matter? Because I can wait outside."

"Nah, don't worry," I reply, shooting him a smile. "And thanks." I turn to the Autobot leader. "Optimus, I wanted to talk to you about Laserbeak. She's not doing too good."

He leans back, fingers steepled in front of his face. "I thought Ratchet repaired all her damage."

I wave that away as I sit down. "Oh, physically, I'm sure she's fine. That's not my field, anyway. But it's my professional opinion that she's sinking into a deep depression. She's much more lethargic than she was before I left, she moves less, she doesn't interact." I pause. "I'm worried about her. And I wondered what your plan was concerning her stay here."

"Laserbeak is a tricky prisoner," Optimus sighs. "We can't interrogate her, not without doing her serious harm. Her firewalls are too strong, for one, and any interrogation has to be done via hardline, which leaves the interrogating Autobot open for counterattack as well. And we know that Soundwave's installed fairly potent countermeasures against hacking in his cassettes. To be honest, at this point I'm thinking that ransoming her back to Soundwave is the best option."

"Ransom?" I raise an eyebrow at the term. "What are you, a pirate?"

Ironhide sniggers. "Yo ho ho and a cube of energon. No, seriously. If we can't trade her for an Autobot – which we can't, right now, since they haven't caught any of ours – we tend ta trade prisoners for energon. Or something else we need."

"Right now, thanks to the US military, we're kept supplied with anything we need," Optimus says. "There's nothing to trade her for, no incentive for us to send her back to them. And you have to realize, Isobel, she's a dangerous operative. I don't know how many plans and ideas that cassette has ruined for us."

I frown at both of them. "So you're saying that just because the Decepticons don't have anything you need, that you're going to just keep her wasting away down in that cell? She's suffering, Optimus."

"Yeah?" Ironhide raises an optic ridge at me. "How can you tell?"

"How can I tell?" I stare at him in surprise. "I just told you! She's depressed, and I mean the clinical term. This is a being who is used to the near-constant company with her master, with her siblings, and now she's being kept in isolation for the third week in a row. It's taking a toll on her."

"She's not that bad off," Ironhide scoffs. "Soundwave sends her on lengthy missions alone all the time. She can't be that closely bonded ta him. Pit, even Blaster's little miscreants managed a year on the other side of the planet from him, and Blaster's thick as thieves with his symbionts."

"Steeljaw and Ramhorn were together, though," I point out. "And they had their bond with Blaster, could communicate with him at need, know that he was safe. I bet my shorts that you've got some sort of comm blocker on those cells. Laserbeak's isolated. Also, we don't know how long she was here for before she was captured. She may have been away from her master much longer than we think."

"What do you suggest, Isobel?" Optimus says, leaning back in his chair.

"Let me in her cell, at least," I reply intently. "There's only so much I can do from outside the bars. Laserbeak doesn't speak, but she's tactile. Having me in there physically might help."

"Absolutely not," Ironhide says firmly. "Too dangerous. Besides, we have no proof there's anything wrong."

"No proof?" My voice jumps up three octaves and I stare at Ironhide as though he's grown feathered wings. "No proof! I'm standing right here, telling you how it is!"

"Yes, and you expect us ta take your word as evidence!" Ironhide shoots back. "Your word as a human psychologist used ta human patients! Laserbeak is not human. She's a Decepticon flight-build cassette, and any one of those things would make it difficult for you ta read her. All three of them at once, well, I'm not surprised she has you wrapped around her talons! And she'll get her talons on you, literally, if you go in there. So, no." He folds his arms across his chest, standing tall. "Not gonna happen."

"You don't believe me?" I'm almost shouting. Ironhide shakes his head.

That's bloody annoying. I've been forgotten, yes. Considered unworthy, yes. But never disbelieved. Not until now.

It stings.

"You really don't believe me." I growl, staring at him. "This is getting real old. I've had enough of this."

"Huh?" Ironhide says unintelligently.

Suddenly I'm furious. I slam my fist down on Optimus's desk. "I've had enough of this! I've had enough of being considered irrelevant and unskilled simply because I'm not the same species as you!"

"Isobel-" Optimus begins, and I just know what he's going to say. I don't let him finish.

"No, Optimus," I growl, "don't you dare say that nobody's thinking that, because you know damn well they are. Ironhide just proved it! And it's utter slag!" I turn to the black weapons specialist. "I've devoted a full third of my life to psychology! I'm considered one of America's leading experts on PTSD in soldiers! And you dare to stand there and say that just because you guys are made of metal I can't recognize the signs? Fuck you!"

I'm on my feet now, seething, pointing at Optimus Prime. "If you didn't think my professional opinion had merit, you wouldn't be sending your Autobots to me in the first place. And I'm telling you that Laserbeak is suffering. I'm telling you to let me into her cell. You can post snipers just outside it aiming at her head, I don't care. But I'm going in that cell."

And Ironhide begins laughing.

Seriously. He's laughing. Optimus bloody Prime is leaning away from me, staring as if my raised finger is a shock probe or something, but Ironhide's laughing.

I knew these Autobots were insane.

"There she is," Ironhide chortles. "There's the steel-strutted human that put the twins in their place with just words. I knew she had ta be in there somewhere."

"What the heck is your problem," I snarl.

"Easy, Isobel. I apologize." He's still grinning, the bastard. "I had ta push. I had ta see how much this meant t'you."

"Why?" I ask darkly. "What's it to you?"

"Because we can't let you enter her cell lightly," Optimus said. "You are too easily injured."

I sigh, my anger evaporating. "Yeah, I know. Puny little squishy." I drop down to the desk again, sitting with my leg crossed under me. "I know. Will you let me in to see her, though? I have to."

Ironhide eyes me appraisingly. "I'll give you the 'little' and the 'squishy', dumb as the word is. But you're not puny, Isobel. Not by a long shot. If you were, you wouldn't be fightin' this hard ta walk inta the cell of a dangerous Decepticon. An' make no mistake, Laserbeak is dangerous ta you."

I shrug. "I know that. I know she is. I know I'm in over my head here. But I can't not help, Ironhide. That's not how I'm wired."

And now he's chuckling again. I resist the urge to show him the finger. It would not be constructive.

Damn tempting, though.

"I wonder if you realize how much we're rubbing off on you," Optimus says, a smile in his voice. "You're using our expletives and expressions."

"I have actually realized that." I'm smiling slightly again. "It's actually not all that uncommon. You're assimilating too." I stand up. "Let me go see Laserbeak. Let me in her cell."

"You won't be deterred, will you?" Optimus raises his optic ridges at me, and I shake my head. I won't budge on this. "Very well. I'm sending Sideswipe with you."

"Thanks, Prime," I say earnestly, grinning for real now. "You won't regret it."

"If what you say is true – and I do value your professional opinion, Isobel – then I have no other choice."

"No, you don't," I agree. "But you could have chosen to be an aft even so. I'm glad you didn't."

Ironhide's chuckling again as he picks me up, and Optimus raises an optic ridge at me again. "I am never purposely an aft."

"Sure," I giggle. "See you guys at the party?"

"We'll be there," Optimus confirms as I'm let down on the floor. "See you then."

I wave and walk out. I have a frontliner to track down and a Decepticon to go see.

* * *

"Hey, Laserbeak," I say softly. The cassette is sitting at the back of the cell, head tucked close to her body until she looks like a ball. She barely moves when I talk to her.

I look over at Sideswipe. "Turn off the bars."

"I don't like this," the silver Autobot replies, eyeing the cassette skeptically.

"You don't have to like it," I reply. "You just have to turn off the bars so I can get inside. Then you can power them again and keep your weapon trained on her."

Sideswipe frowns, but he does as he's told. The bars in front of me wink out, letting me grasp the door and unlock it. As I walk inside again, the bars power up behind me with a soft hum.

"Hey, Laserbeak," I croon, walking up to her slowly. "You awake?"

She lifts her dark head with a soft chirp.

"It's just me," I say, moving closer. "I got permission to come inside to see you today."

"Don't get too close, Isobel," Sideswipe warns. "And stay on her left side, otherwise you're blocking my sight."

I shuffle sideways. Laserbeak tracks me with her optics, then stands up, turning with me. She chirps again, moving closer carefully.

I look at her. Whatever Ironhide and Sideswipe say, I don't think I'm in danger in here. She's not going to hurt me, not intentionally. At least, I'm willing to bet that she's not.

So, taking the gamble, I sit down on the floor. And Laserbeak crawls into my lap – as much of her as will fit in it, anyway.

"Slag it, Isobel," Sideswipe growls. "Now I can't take her out without taking you out."

"Oh, can it, Sideswipe," I reply tiredly. "Does she look like she's going to attack me to you?"

Without waiting for a reply, I begin tracing my hands over her body. I stroke feathers and cabling, massage gently along her back. Laserbeak gets heavier and heavier, a purring sound emanating from deep in her chest.

"You miss this, didn't you," I murmur. "You miss being on his lap, his fingers rubbing you down, taking care of you. Recharging in a pile with the others, or in his chest."

Laserbeak shrinks in on herself.

"I'm sorry," I continue. "I tried talking to Optimus, but I'm not sure I got through. I got to come and visit you, though. I hope that helps."

She chirps, turning her head to nibble gently at my fingers. There's the sound of a weapon charging up from outside the cell.

"Sideswipe, she's being affectionate," I say exasperatedly. "Can't you see that?"

"If she eats your fingers, I will shoot her," he grunts.

"Fine," I snort. "If she eats my fingers, you can shoot her." I smile at the cassette, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Don't eat my fingers, 'kay? I kind of like you, I don't want him to shoot."

Laserbeak trills at that, a high, clear series of notes, and her entire body vibrates. It takes me a moment to realize that this is a Laserbeak laugh. I giggle.

"Anywhere in particular that aches today?" I ask, my fingers stroking the neck cabling that had caused her problems earlier. In response, she twists on my lap, stretching up one strong leg. "Your foot? Okay." I let my fingers roam over the delicate machinery. "You were never meant to walk much on these, were you?" I say conversationally. "I noticed the Aerialbots have the same kind of feet, the kind that isn't really built to take the weight over long periods. Not like the ground-based 'Bots. Their feet are huge."

Sideswipe snorts. "Just 'cause yours are tiny." Then, to my surprise, he moves closer to the cell and sits down outside it.

"What?" he says defensively at my quirked eyebrow. "You said she's upset, right? Maybe there's more of us can keep her company."

Laserbeak just turns her head and looks at him. Somehow, I get the feeling that the others won't be accepted as easily as I was.

"I actually considered asking Eject to come down and say hi with me," I nod. "Maybe you'd like that, Laserbeak."

Sideswipe shrugs. "Probably won't hurt. You should talk to Blaster about it, though. He can get really defensive over his little guys."

I nod at that. "I planned to." Then I smirk at him. "So I missed out on a week's worth of gossip. What's up?"

Sideswipe grins. "Not that much. Blue and Flight are still going strong, strangely enough. I would have thought they'd tire of each other by now."

"Nah," I grin. "They're both too enthusiastic. So now they're enthused by each other."

Sideswipe chuckles. "It's driving the rest of the Aerialbots mad, I know that much. Fireflight has problems managing to keep his head in the game under normal circumstances, now he crashes into things if he just glimpses a doorwing."

Laserbeak laughs again.

"Oh, you like that, huh?" I giggle. "Who'd have thought you were a gossip, Laserbeak."

The cassette trills again, and Sideswipe stares at me in surprise. "She's comming me."

"She is?" I look from him to Laserbeak and back. "Wow. What's up?"

"It's… Here, listen. 'That's nothing. You should have seen the first time Starscream's trine trained with the Coneheads, when they first arrived. Thrust crashed so badly his trinemates had to pick pine branches and dead organics off him for days afterwards. He was too busy staring at Screamer's thrusters to pay attention to where he was flying.'" He chuckles. "That's hilarious. Though I can't say I blame him. Screamer's thrusters are totally stareworthy."

Laserbeak laughs. It's a good sound.

* * *

First Aid's not there when I get back to my flat, even though it's late. It takes me a moment to notice the note on the table, saying that he's busy with 'Christmas business' and that he'll see me tomorrow. The note ends with 'I adore you. You're perfect. And I wish it was tomorrow already.'

First Aid's turning out to be a bit of a sap. And I can't keep a silly grin off my face.

I'm surprised when there's a knock on the door – I had just planned to eat something quickly and then take a shower before heading to bed. I spent a lot of time sitting down on the cold floor with Laserbeak, I feel stiff. So I'm hoping I can get rid of whoever it is in a hurry.

But when I open the door, it's Mirage.

He's looking down, at first – standing with his hands in his pockets, slouched slightly forward. He doesn't look like his normal, confident self.

"Hello, Isobel."

"Mirage." I raise an eyebrow at him. "To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"

"I heard. That you heard."

I just keep looking at him, probably on the colder side of polite. "You're going to have to be more specific."

He sighs explosively. This is not the calm, arrogant Mirage I'm used to seeing. "Can I come in?"

I frown at him for a moment, then step aside. This had better be good.

Mirage turns to face me as I follow him into the living room. "Isobel, I owe you an apology."

I just wait, looking at him.

And he deflates. "I heard that you were there. With Bumblebee. When Hound and I – well. And that you heard as much as Bumblebee did."

He looks a question at me at that. So I nod. I'm not trusting myself to talk out loud right now.

"I'm so sorry, Isobel. I said some horrible things about you." He looks at me intently. "But you need to know, it's all a misunderstanding."

So I explode. Violently. Suddenly. And, judging by the surprised look on Mirage's face, completely unexpectedly.

"Oh no you don't," I snarl. "You don't get to spew that kind of vitriol and say it's just a misunderstanding! You don't! Do you have any idea what that did to me, hearing that? You bloody, back-stabbing, cowardly bastard!"

And then I slap him. Hard. There's a red mark from my hand on his cheek.

He winces, moving his jaw tenderly. "I deserved that. But truly, darling, it was a misunderstanding. And a bit of wounded pride."

"You don't get to call me that!" I shout. "Not after what you said. Not after that." I start pacing back and forth on the floor.

"For what it's worth, you were never meant to hear that," he says quietly.

"Oh, like that helps," I snarl, practically spitting at him.

"I suppose it doesn't, at that. Still, believe me when I say that I didn't mean any of that the way it sounded."

"Well, that makes everything better," I growl. "So you didn't mean calling me barely passable? Unexciting? You didn't mean it when you said I wasn't _worth it_?"

He flinches, at least. So he feels something. Though not as much as me, I'd bet. I feel like I'm about to explode.

"Will you let me explain?" He looks at me, outwardly calm, but there's some deep emotion in his eyes.

I throw my arms up. "Can I stop you!?"

"Yes," he replies, keeping that infernal calm. "Tell me to leave, and I will. But I do believe I owe you an explanation."

I dump down on the couch, growling at him. "Explain, then. You have two minutes."

Mirage kneels in front of me. "Hound and I have been bonded for vorns, but we haven't told anyone. We didn't want to be treated differently because of it, and we were worried about what would happen if the Decepticons found out. In our roles, we tend to get up close and personal with them on a regular basis." He tries for a charming smile, but it dies on his face fairly quickly when I just stare at him. "Yes. Well. We get sent on different missions fairly often, sometimes we're apart for many of your years. And it gets lonely. So we agreed that we were allowed to seek comfort with others on those long absences."

I continue staring at him. I'd figured as much already. This is neither an explanation nor an apology.

He clears his throat, looks away. "Anyway. That's where the 'slumming' and 'sampling the local merchandise' comes from. Those are private jokes. They really had nothing at all to do with you specifically. If the situation had been reversed and he had been left without me for a decade, I would have been ribbing him with the same phrases."

…Okay. I can sort of understand that. Sort of. "Those weren't the worst, though."

He sighs. "No, they weren't. And the rest was all me. I really have no excuse, Isobel. I was…" He looks down, takes a deep breath. "I was hurt, I suppose, when you replaced me that easily. I'm not usually the one to be replaced. And my hurt pride made me say things that not only I wouldn't normally say, but that were also blatantly, glaringly untrue. And I'm so very sorry about that."

He walks up to me, kneels in front of me with his hands on my knees. I scoot backwards on the sofa, and his hands drop to the floor.

Like he gets to touch me. No way.

"I know I said those things. But you are anything but that. You are brave, strong. Fierce. Beautiful. Magnificent. And I'm an utter fool, because I threw all that away." His eyes meet mine, bright blue almost glowing under dark eyebrows. "I can see what you have with First Aid, Isobel. I could never begrudge you that. But if I had managed to keep my pride under control, I could perhaps have still been your friend." He takes a deep breath, moves closer again. Wiser this time, doesn't put his hands on me. "I would have dearly liked to be your friend, Isobel. And I am so sorry."

"You have no idea what you're sorry for," I whisper, rubbing at my treacherous eyes. "You don't know what those words did to me."

He looks away again. "Bumblebee told me. He was… very mad at me, actually, and rightfully so. Please believe me when I say that you have no reason to feel inferior."

"Not that easy to believe you, Mirage," I breathe. "I don't trust you."

"Yes, I know," he sighs, "and that was perhaps my greatest error of all. I had your trust, and then I lost it. I am the meanest kind of person, for that." He looks up then, blue eyes meeting mine. "I know you won't forgive me, not yet. But I wanted to let you know how deeply sorry I am. I never, ever wanted to see you hurt. You're too important to me for that."

He stands up, takes a step backwards. "First Aid is a very lucky mech, to have won you. I know he realizes that. He will treasure you as you should be treasured. And I only hope that someday you'll find it in your heart to forgive me." Then he turns, walks to the door. "Good night, Isobel."

I sit still for a while after he's gone. It's hard to find the strength to move. But in the end, tiredness wins me over and I head for the showers.

Before I go there, though, I make a detour to my Christmas gift storage and pull out one of the spare tins of wax. It looks like I have one more present to wrap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Mirage's word use. I keep imagining him as a very cultured, highly educated mech. So his phrases and diction is well-schooled and perfect as well. And when he says 'meanest', he doesn't mean 'cruelest', he means 'poorest', as in her trust was the most valuable thing he had and now it's gone.  
> Yeah. 'Raj can apologize with the best of them.


	20. It's beginning to look a lot like

"That's the last one," Bumblebee whispers conspiratorially. "Where to now?"

"Officer's quarters," First Aid replies, and his grin is downright Grinchy. "Let's move. I want to see Isobel in that dress."

And now he leers. Good grief.

Still, I'm not going to lie. _I_ want him to see me in that dress. The thought of him seeing me in that dress makes me all tingly. Though that may also be the thrill of sneaking around like this.

"Let's go, then," Bumblebee chuckles silently. "Don't want to get in the way of that." He picks up the sack with the last of the presents and throws it over his shoulder.

Turns out, First Aid has another good thing about him that I didn't know about until now.

He has medical access codes to everybody's quarters. _Everybody's_. Even Prime's.

That makes it ridiculously easy to sneak in and hide their Christmas presents under their beds. Especially when Bumblebee helps out.

So now we're having an insane amount of fun playing Santas, hiding the presents while the party's started without us. It's almost tempting to do this sneaky spy thing more often.

First Aid, thankfully, had the savvy to tell Red Alert about our plan in advance. That means that instead of dodging the plentiful security cameras, we can just wave at them as we walk past.

I wait outside as the two mechs enter the hangar, First Aid to open the locks and Bee to use all his sneakiness to conceal the presents in the now-by-comparison-tiny sack on his back. When they come back out, mission accomplished, Bumblebee folds down into his Camaro form and drives away. First Aid picks me up, pressing his face against my hair for a moment before transforming and taking off with me.

"Dress time yet?" he asks, seatback gently massaging my back.

"Oh, absolutely," I grin. "You're really excited about that thing, huh?"

"Are you kidding? I've been imagining you in that dress ever since Groove sent me a picture of you trying it on in London."

"Huh. I guess it's a good thing I didn't show Groove my New Year's dress, then. You wouldn't have been able to think."

"That good?" First Aid's voice drops an octave.

"One word." I lean in against his dashboard, running my hands along the gently vibrating leather. I can see my breath moisting up the Autobot metal logo in the center of the steering wheel as I lower my voice into a whisper. "Slinky."

The ambulance's tires spin out, making the rear end fishtail wildly.

"Oh, you're lucky I really want to see you in that dress," First Aid growls huskily, "or you'd never get to that party at all."

I giggle, running my fingers across the leather again. "I thought half the fun of that dress would be imagining the moment you got to take it off me again."

"That a promise?" he replies, still in that husky tone.

"It's a guarantee," I reply, echoing his words from when he called me in London with a smirk, noticing the increasing tremble in the steering wheel and gearstick.

Ha. Payback's a bitch. Now let him try and get through an evening of normalcy with his head in the gutter like that.

First Aid just growls, speeding up.

We get to my place, and I unbuckle the seatbelt expecting the door to open. Instead, the seat slides all the way back, and First Aid's holoform appears in front of me, budging in between my legs. I open my mouth to protest, but I never get that far, because First Aid is kissing me hungrily, pushing me down into the seat, hands already wandering down my body.

"Naughty Isobel," he breathes, turning down to mouth at my neck and shoulder. "Distracting the driver like that."

I can't summon the will to reply, because his hand just snuck down the front of my jeans, one finger exploring and probing while the other hand tug at my jeans, getting them out of the way.

With us still in his alt mode.

On the street. Where anyone can walk past.

I manage a glance up. First Aid hasn't even tinted his windows.

"Aid, anyone can see," I manage, while moaning against his cheek and pressing against that delightful finger probing inside me.

"They're at the party, love," he grins evilly. "Besides, my sensors will let me know if anyone approaches." His finger twists marvelously, and he manages somehow to get one of my legs out of my jeans. "I'm not sharing you, not even by visual."

I just gasp, clinging to his shoulders, as he nibbles at my earlobe, his free hand tracing down my leg painfully slowly. His finger moves out and up, circling.

And then he slams into me hard enough to make me shriek.

In a totally good way. In fact, I can't seem to shut up, and when he repeats the motion I bite into his shoulder in an attempt to silence myself. First Aid just laughs throatily, slamming into me again, and I press against him as hard as I can, trying to get even closer. His mouth moves on mine, nibbling and licking, and between that and his finger still doing what it does best, the next time he slams into me I climax harder than I ever have in my life.

Seriously. I black out for a moment.

When I open my eyes again, First Aid's staring at me smugly. I just glare at him.

Payback. Yeah, that seriously backfired. I'm going to need another shower now, and we'll be really late.

Dumb-aft, kinky Protectobot.

* * *

Autobots have it easy. They can just reprogram their holoforms. Which means that while I'm still pulling at my socks, getting ready to shower, First Aid merely vanishes into a cloud of blue sparks for a few seconds before re-emerging in pristine condition.

And what a condition. Whoa.

I thought First Aid in his t-shirt was hot. First Aid in a dark grey suit, top white shirt button open, hair pulled back into a perfectly messy ponytail? He nearly has my knees giving in.

Apparently, it shows, too. Because he's smiling that small smile that just quirks the corners of his mouth, looking at me through those perfect eyelashes. "Cat got your tongue?"

I blink. "Holy crap. Wow. You look – um."

He grins then, which of course makes him look even hotter. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that you meant the word 'good' to end that sentence."

"Prefix an 'extremely', and you're there," I giggle, walking over to him and circling him slowly. "Holy crap, First Aid."

"Yeah, you said that already," he chuckles, turning to follow my circling.

"Well, that's just because my brain is melting," I claim, smirking and leaning in to press a kiss to his lips.

"Isobel," he murmurs against my mouth, one arm sneaking up against the bare skin of my back.

"Yes?" I kiss him lightly again, nipping at his lower lip.

"We have a party to get to, love. And you have no clothes on."

"Well, it makes for easier access, doesn't it?" I chase his mouth again, he seems insistent not to kiss me all of a sudden. "Are you sure we need to go to this party thing?"

"Yes," he replies, still stubbornly dodging my attempts at kissing him. "I want to see you in that dress, and show you off to everyone." One hand lifts up, catches my chin and tilting it up until he's looking into my eyes.

I'm pretty much lost in those eyes.

"So scoot, my beautiful creature," he murmurs, laying soft kisses on each of my cheeks and eyelids. "Go shower -" forehead, corner of my mouth – "get clean –" ear lobe, the side of my neck – "and come back out to me wearing that dress."

How in the world does he expect me to get ready when he's fighting this dirty?!

And who did he take seduction classes from while I was in London? Jazz? Sideswipe? Because First Aid is getting dangerous to my health. If I could, I'd spend all day in bed with him. And I don't mean sleeping.

I pout, looking up at him. "But, First Aid…"

It doesn't work, of course. He just grins, press another kiss to the tip of my nose. "Go, love. I'll wait here."

Well okay then, if he insists. I turn and walk towards the bathroom.

"Because, you know, if you don't put the dress on I won't be able to peel it off later."

I don't speed up. Not really. I'm just being moved faster by the gravitational pull of the planet. That's it.

Grooming can't really be hurried, though. So no matter how quick a shower I take, it still takes some time to get my hair to behave. I abandon the complicated do I'd planned earlier, since we're way behind schedule thanks to First Aid's antics, and just let my hair hang loose. I never do that anyway, so it's an interesting change. Quick makeup, slipping into that dress, pulling the shoes on, quick check in the mirror.

Acceptable.

I walk back out to First Aid though, and he just stares at me. I twirl, smiling at him. "Am I fit to show off?"

"You look perfect," he murmurs, walking up to me and putting his hands on my waist. "I knew that dress was right."

I look down at the rich red fabric draping down from my one shoulder to fall gently down my body, the silver vines encircling my waist, the split up to just over my knee. "Well, good. Shall we go then, so you can show me off?"

He smiles warmly at me, offers me his arm. "Let's go, Isobel."

* * *

You'd think, in a ballroom full of perfect-looking holoforms all dressed in their best, that little old human me would feel like I didn't compare. Because, let's face it, all the Autobots have rigged their holoforms to be the most beautiful figures possible. And no matter how much I dress up, make up, doll up or fancy up, I'm still human. And I have my flaws.

I don't feel like that, though. Not with the way First Aid's looking at me tonight. Not with the way his eyes are constantly following me, even if I'm dancing with someone else (and if it hadn't been Optimus who asked first, I don't think he would have let go of me at all), even if First Aid's in the middle of a conversation.

Finally, out of breath and with slightly achy feet after dancing with three different Autobots in a row, I sit down in one of the sofas we've set up along the wall. Before I have even settled, First Aid is next to me, nodding and smiling at the others sitting around the same table. "Prime, sir. Ratchet, sir."

"Hello, First Aid," Optimus says amicably. "I say, your date has outdone herself with this arrangement."

I accept my glass back from First Aid, sipping at it gratefully. "To be honest, Optimus, this was mostly Bumblebee. I just facilitated."

Optimus, looking exceptionally dashing in his navy suit and black fedora, smiles and turns to where the scout is talking to the curly-haired young woman singer Lennox brought in. "Yes, he's been very excited about this. More than usual."

Ratchet snorts. "Little glitch hasn't been talking about anything but this for the last three weeks." The medic is all elegant features and leonine grace, and he's leaning back against Optimus's hand on his back like it's no big deal. I can tell by the look on the Prime's face though, that it's a very big deal. He looks like he's on cloud nine.

"It's a good chance for everyone to let off some steam," Ratchet continues. "Which is good. Rather dancing than brawling." He smirks at the dancing crowd. "Less parts for me to reassemble."

"For me to reassemble, you mean," First Aid teases, favoring his mentor with a small smile. "Even if it's parts I'm unfamiliar with. Since if they're dumb enough to get themselves slagged, they're not worthy of your attention. Isn't that what you usually say?"

"Well, you need the practice," Ratchet replies unashamedly. "Or you'll never be as good as you can be. It's just the way it is."

"How generous of you, Ratchet, to let your apprentice challenge himself so often." Optimus murmurs, leaning in towards the medic's ear and grinning.

"I'm nothing if not generous," Ratchet smirks, leaning slightly into the contact – but not too much, no, just enough that I can spot it. Since I'm totally looking for it and all. "And speaking of generosity, Isobel," he turns and looks at me, "I hear you've been getting up close and personal with our honored guest?"

I shrug, a little defensively. I'm getting tired of arguing my case here, and despite First Aid's assurances I'm not a hundred percent certain that Ratchet agrees with my priorities. "It was necessary."

Turns out I needn't have worried. Ratchet grins approvingly. "That's my sparklet. Doing the right thing. Even when you have to take down command a notch to do so."

"We were mainly worried about her safety," Optimus chides him gently.

Ratchet shoots a wry look at his Prime. "I know. You sent Sideswipe with a sniper rifle down there with her. A bit of an overkill, if you ask me."

"Oh? How so?" The Prime raises an eyebrow, and now they're almost nose to nose. And I'm trying very hard not to grin from ear to ear and squeal. They're just so darn cute!

"Because you know slagging well that Isobel is safer going into that cell than any Autobot would be. She can't be hacked, she can't get any viruses, she doesn't have a hardline for Laserbeak to use. At worst, yes, Laserbeak could attack her, but for some unfathomable reason," and here he winks at me, "the birdbot actually likes her. So she probably wouldn't do that, even without Sideswipe aiming at her head."

"Laserbeak actually liked Sideswipe too, I think," I comment. "They were making jokes, laughing."

Three pairs of blue optics are staring at me.

"Well, they were," I repeat, looking around at them. "Once Sideswipe relaxed and started gossiping, that is."

Ratchet chuckles. "You going to talk her into defecting there, sparklet?"

"Defecting?" I raise my eyebrows at that, surprised. "Is that actually a thing?"

Prime sighs, leaning back. "It hasn't happened for millions of years, sadly. It happened more often back on Cybertron, before war had decimated our numbers, but it was rare even then."

"What was?" Jazz says, sauntering over and leaning over the back of the sofa.

"Defecting," Ratchet grunts.

"Ah," Prowl says, pale gorgeous holoform sitting down opposite me. "Yes, that was rare, even when it did happen. These days…"

Jazz slides down languidly into the sofa – into Prowl's lap, almost, until the tactician subtly shifts him so Jazz is seated next to him instead. Jazz isn't deterred though, leaning every inch of his sexy self up against his partner. They make quite the handsome pair. "These days," Jazz continues, "th' factions are smaller, 'specially now that we're trapped here, an' with every Autobot directly under Prime's command an' every 'Con directly under Megatron's, the whole defectin' thing becomes pretty much impossible. Ol' Megs knows everyone o' his troops, faces an' designations, jus' as Prime does. They're all a big, dysfunctional, kinda-ruled-by-fear family. And ya don' defect from family."

"That's doubly true in Laserbeak's case," Prowl says, one hand absently moving across Jazz's leg. "I assume that's how this came up. For her, it would be a case of leaving her real family as well, and they would undoubtedly be facing Megatron's wrath."

"He might not leave the other cassettes alive," Jazz adds quietly. "By all accounts, that bird is his favorite. So if she defected, he would take that outta Soundwave's hide, Ah think."

"He needs Soundwave," Prowl frowns. "All our intel says that even though Starscream is Megatron's right hand, Soundwave is the pressure that keeps his army together."

"Don' go givin' Sounders too much credit, Prowler," Jazz argues. "Megs is perfectly capable o' keepin' his own troops in line, by any means available t' him."

"He always was very charismatic," Optimus nods. "I suspect his tactics are different, but Megatron never had problems gaining and keeping followers. He's cannier than we tend to remember these days."

"Crazier, too," Ratchet points out. "And more violent. He's not the Megatron from back then anymore."

"No," Optimus sighs, leaning against the medic slightly. "He's worse. He's so much worse. I know, Ratchet."

"Worse how?" I look from one to the other. It must be bad, the way they're reacting.

"Worse," Ratchet replies. He sounds upset, looks it too, latching onto Optimus's hand like that. "Judging by some of the damage I've seen on the 'Cons that come through my med bay - let's say it like this: not all the damage I fix on captured 'Cons has been caused by us. And for some of them, I'd say most of the damage is not from fighting Autobots." He frowns, staring down at his hands. "We would never inflict that kind of damage on anyone."

I'm almost afraid to ask. But I _need_ to know. "What kind of damage?"

Ratchet sighs heavily. "The kind Megatron likes to inflict on his subjugates. Starscream, in particular, but all of the Seekers show it to a lesser degree, as well as the triple changers. Not Soundwave, strangely enough, and never the cassettes."

"Soundwave's shielding them," Prime says heavily. "He has to be."

"Who's shieldin' him?"

"His skill," Prowl replies, leaning imperceptibly closer to his mate. "Soundwave is such a valued asset, so good at what he does, Megatron can't risk harming him. As I said, Soundwave is the weld that keeps the Decepticons from falling apart. So he's probably as safe from damage as any Decepticon can be."

"What," I repeat gravely, "kind. Of damage?"

Ratchet just looks at me for a moment. "The abusive kind," he replies, slowly, finally. "Every part of Starscream has been broken at some point, even parts that take some creativity to get to, let alone damage. Every bit of him has been scarred or replaced. Vorns-old injuries, internal and external. Every time I have him on my table, it's something new. Megatron is constantly breaking him, with words and actions."

"Screamer's always challengin' him," Jazz murmurs.

"Megatron needs a punching bag," Ratchet says angrily. "He needs someone to dominate. So he dominates the indomitable. Violently, scathingly, physically and mentally in every shape and form."

I can tell this sickens him. Heck, it sickens _me_. The idea that Megatron – or anyone, for that matter - would do that to the people under his own command is horrid. I remember Starscream from the pictures in my files – he looked decidedly unfriendly, a bit maniacal and more than a little cruel, but even someone like that doesn't deserve a lifetime of abuse.

First Aid's frowning, too, and Optimus looks upset.

Ratchet looks absolutely irate. He looks at me, blue eyes blazing. "So you keep talking to Laserbeak, Isobel. You keep befriending her. Because yeah, we're fighting to defend Earth. Yeah, obviously, we want to win this war. But I do not want to see any mech on my table with that kind of injuries ever again."

"Winning doesn't necessarily mean eradicating the Decepticons," Optimus elaborates softly, one hand rubbing up and down the medic's back comfortingly, the other still holding Ratchet's own. "Anyone we can win over, anyone we can convince that the factions are really fighting for the same thing at this point, anyone we can instill doubt in, is a good thing. I'd like nothing better than to win every one of Megatron's soldiers away from him - even Starscream, though I'm afraid he may be beyond our aid now. Every last one of them."

"Which brings us back to the family issue," Prowl says, sighing. "You do not defect from family."

"Surely they don't want to stay with him, though," I object, looking around at them. "Do they?"

"They stay for the same reason every abused spouse or offspring stays," Ratchet grunts. "Misplaced loyalty and fear. A very real fear, and not unfounded."

"But they have another choice," I argue. I don't understand this.

"We've been at war since this planet was young," Prowl says. "After so long, differences of opinion becomes differences of culture. The idea of us and them is cemented. The reasons why we fought are no longer valid. The Decepticons were rebels, once, fighting for justice – a noble cause, if a horrible way to go about it. Now, Megatron desires conquest. And revenge. And he instills those desires in those under his command, egging them on and punishing them as he sees fit until he's shaped them to be what he wants them to be. He is very, very clever."

"The Autobots used to fight in defense of the Senate," Optimus says, "of the rules of society, of the peace – what little there was of it-"

"And how dearly it was bought," Ratchet shoots in.

"- but all those things are gone now. The way of life that we defended is no more. But the Decepticons are still attacking."

"So all the rules've changed," Jazz says heavily. "Megatron fights for his own gain. An' we fight because he does."

I don't know what to say to this. I had thought, once, that both sides had forgotten what they were fighting for. I never thought I would be this right and this wrong at the same time. "And neither of you can just stop," I realize. "You can't because Megatron would take advantage of that and wreak destruction at everything, and Megatron won't because you're still resisting him."

"Yep," Jazz sighs. "It's a vicious cycle with somethin' like triple emphasis."

"Well, damn," I frown. "That just sucks big-time."

The epic understatement has them chuckling, which was my goal. This is far too depressing a subject for a Christmas party.

"Ya's right about that," Jazz grins. "And Ah see what ya did there. C'mon." He stands up, stretches out a hand towards me. "Ya danced wi' Prime, and Bee, and baby Blue, but ya ain't danced wi' me. Do me th'honors?"

"Sure," I grin, putting my hand in his and letting myself be pulled to my feet. "Bring it on."

* * *

I lean into First Aid's supporting arm gratefully. "My feet are killing me."

"That's what you get for dancing in heels, I understand," he replies, smiling down at me fondly.

"You're right." So I do the logical thing – I stop, and kick my shoes off. Carrying them in my hand is better than walking in them. I'm fairly convinced by now that these shoes, elegant wonders that they are, were completely not made for walking.

Turns out though, neither are my feet. Not like that. And certainly not on the sharp gravel of the pathway. If I looked graceless before, stottering along with stiff legs and blisters inside the blisters, I look ridiculous now.

Walking barefoot _hurts_.

First Aid, evil Protectobot that he is, is chuckling at me. And then he simply picks me up, carrying me bridal style. I'd object, but honestly I don't mind.

I don't mind at all.

So I lean my head against his shoulder, let one hand play idly with the collar of his shirt.

"Love you, First Aid," I murmur. "You're amazing. I don't understand how you're so normal when everything's so fucked up."

"Love you more," he says softly, mouth pressing against my hair for a moment. "And I'm sorry. That was a fairly depressive conversation. Everything's not fucked up, I promise."

I lift my head to look up at him. "You don't think it is?"

"There's too much good for it all to be bad," he replies simply. "The war can't last forever. We won't let it." He shoots me a grin. " _You_ won't let it."

"Don't give me more credit than I deserve," I reply sternly. "This is not my war."

"I think you've made it yours," he disagrees in soft tones, raising an eyebrow at my disbelieving look. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You've made it yours, but you've done it without actually taking on the conflict. You don't hate. Pit, you haven't even picked a side." He nuzzles me gently. "You, my beautiful femme, won't let this war go on forever. And I'll be right by your side every step of the way. We can fix things together."

"Well, it's nice that you have faith in me, I suppose," I grumble. "Hi, I'm Isobel Harrington, and I've been tasked with ending a millennia-long civil war fought among alien metallic lifeforms three times my size who can kill me by stepping on me."

First Aid laughs quietly at my petulant tone. "That's my Isobel. Do you know that you're adorable when you're pouting like a sparkling?"

I snort. "Not you, too. Optimus and Ratchet already call me a sparkling regularly." I frown, remembering. This is as good a time to ask as any. "First Aid, what's a sparklet? Ratchet keeps calling me that."

"A sparklet is… an infant, I suppose you can say. A newspark before it is born, while it's still supported by its carrier, and after separation but before it's in its first frame."

I just stare at him. I understood all the individual words in that explanation, but still it didn't make a lick of sense.

Still, the implications are staggering.

"You reproduce," I state, with no small amount of skepticism. "You make little Cybertronians." I remember reading in my 101 that they were physically intimate with each other – 'stimulating and causing pleasure in the neural nets in a fashion not unlike that of humans', I believe the exact words were – but not this.

I mean, they're robots. Made of metal. Non-biological beings. Every part of their body is fabricated – for Pete's sake, Ratchet makes spare parts when he has the time, and he can replace every part in their frames. How the heck can they reproduce?

"Well, yes," he replies, looking at me curiously. "I thought you knew that."

I shake my head. "There was nothing in my files about actual reproduction. Logically, yes, I suppose if I had thought about it I'd have realized you have to have come from somewhere. And I knew that sparkling was a word for child. Somehow, though, that didn't connect in my head to your race having actual children." I frown. "Also, it doesn't explain why Ratchet calls me sparklet."

First Aid laughs at that. "It's not something we think most humans need to know. Your race has issues enough with us without dragging in the fact that we have intimate relations, form lasting relationships and are capable of having offspring."

"Yes, God forbid you have anything in common with humans," I deadpan. "That would be awful."

He laughs again, nuzzling at my hair affectionately.

It brings another aspect of things to the forefront of my mind, too. "First Aid, I'm sorry."

He looks down at me questioningly. "For what?"

"For being human," I reply. "For not being Cybertronian. I can't… I'm not…"

"Hush," he says firmly, kissing my forehead. "You have nothing to apologize for. I've never sought after that bond, that need for another, and I've definitely never thought of sparklings. I still don't. I only think of you."

"That must make life interesting for your brothers," I quip feebly.

"You have no idea," he chuckles. Then he pulls me tighter to him. "Don't worry, love. I wouldn't have things any other way." Then his expression changes slightly, morphing from calm, loving reassurance to something decidedly R-rated. "Well, except for one thing."

"What?" I ask, grinning. I know that tone.

"Well," he replies, voice suddenly an octave lower, "I did aim to get you back out of that dress."

That has me giggling. I giggle all the way home, until First Aid opens the door to my flat and find an effective way to silence me.

* * *

Christmas Day holds its own special kind of magic. Today is no different. Even if there's a distinct Autobot tech feel to it.

It's not that early in the morning. Really, they should thank me. I'm helping them get an early start to the day. One shouldn't oversleep when there are presents waiting.

I shoot a glance at First Aid, still deep in recharge, and push the button.

Instantly, the tinny recording pierces the air. Santa Claus is comin' to town all right. To every Autobot with a present under his bed.

Thank you, Wheeljack.

First Aid startles awake, looking more than a little confused. That doesn't change when he sees me grinning at him. "Merry Christmas, you."

"Merry Christmas," he replies, smiling back at me tentatively. "What's going on?"

"Well, there's this little tradition I'm very fond of. It's called 'Christmas presents'. You might have heard of it."

"It rings a bell, yes," he chuckles. "Can't recall it requiring its own theme song or wakeup call, though."

"Well, how would anyone know they had presents under their beds if I didn't have a signal to alert them," I say reasonably. "Can't have anyone missing out on the fact that we've hidden little treasures under their berths, can we? Even you, my wonderful First Aid," I grin, touching his nose with my fingertip. "Look under the bed."

He raises an eyebrow at me before twisting to lean over the side of the bed, strong back muscles flexing, most of the covers falling away from his body.

Oh yeah. I'm enjoying the view.

First Aid sits back up, a small bright rectangle in his hand. "This for me?"

I nod eagerly, sitting up and leaning in to catch his reaction when he opens it.

He chuckles softly at me, press a quick kiss to my cheek. "So eager. Not acting your age today?"

I giggle. "Oh, please. No one acts their age on Christmas. We're all kids today. Open it."

He flashes me a grin, then tear into the festive wrapping until it's nothing but shreds on my bed covers. "A data disk?"

I nod. "Rewind helped me. That's me on there."

"You?" He eyes me questioningly.

"Yeah. That's my life. Photos, video, snapshots from here and there, even journal entries and some old school projects. For you to access when you're in root mode." I smile, suddenly self-conscious. It had seemed like a good idea at the time… "I wanted to share my past with you. Considering you're getting my future." I wince slightly at the words. "That sounded much better in my head."

"I thought it sounded pretty good out loud too." First Aid's smile is dazzling. "Thank you, Isobel. This means a lot. I'm looking forward to looking at it." He puts the disk down on the nightstand. "Now it's your turn."

"My turn?" I quirk an eyebrow at him.

"To look under the bed," he grins. "Go on."

I got a present? First Aid got me a present?

I dive under the bed much more eagerly than I'll ever admit to.

The box is oblong, not big, and wrapped in silver wrapping paper. 'For you, my love,' the tag reads. 'For that more civilized age, when it comes. First Aid.'

I tear off the paper, already bouncing on the bed. First Aid is smiling indulgently at me.

There's a white box with a lid. I pull the lid off. Then the black fabric covering whatever-it-is inside.

And then I just stop moving in sheer dumb surprise.

Inside the box, there's a lightsaber.

I pick it up reverently. It looks real. It feels real. It's got real weight to it.

I point it away from us – can't be too safe, right? – and push the button.

It fragging _works_. And it _hums_.

The actual blade is blue, the same shade as Bluestreak's optics. I twist it carefully, marveling in the glow I can still see behind my eyelids when I close my eyes, in the tell-tale znnn of the glowing energy.

I suddenly realize I'm squealing and vibrating so hard First Aid has to be able to feel it through the mattress.

So I turn the lightsaber off and throw myself at him. "Thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!"

He grins, pulling me tighter to him. "You're welcome, love. I'm glad you like it."

"I love it!" I squeal. At this point, my voice has no lower register and everything I say is going to come out in a pitch that many humans can't hear. "How did you do this?"

"Wheeljack helped," he confesses, hands moving up my bare back. "He designed it, and helped me construct it. It's based partially on our own energy swords, like the ones that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are using."

"Awesome," I breathe, letting my hands run over his bare chest. "Must remember to thank Wheeljack. After I'm done thanking you." So I kiss him as skillfully as I know how.

He smiles against my mouth. "You better not thank Wheeljack like this."

"Nah," I reply, still only millimeters apart from him. "He gets a hug."

"Good," First Aid says, and then rolls around on the bed with me until I'm spread out beneath him. He looks at me hungrily.

And then he pounces on me.

It's shaping up to be a great start to the day when First Aid suddenly pauses and pulls back, a distant look on his face. I wait expectantly – I know that expression. It seems the jury's reached a verdict.

And then First Aid chuckles.

I'm getting impatient here, for more than one reason. "So? What do they think?"

"Blades says to tell you that you're crazy, but you're his kind of crazy," he replies, fingers once again dancing across my ribs. "Streetwise is just shooting me a thumbs-up – what did you get him anyway?"

"A Buddha board and 'police line – do not cross' tape," I grin. "And a book. Blades got bullet stickers and the 'Cards against humanity' game."

"I'm afraid to ask," First Aid murmurs, mouth descending on my chest. "Groove adores you, but you knew that. He's already reading. And Hot Spot says to tell you thanks. But it's a good tone of voice."

I move slightly, trying to encourage his mouth closer to where I want it. "Good. I was a bit worried about that one." I'd had Bumblebee help me tweak one of the pictures of Defensor until it looked like art a human could have made, and then had it printed in poster-size. It looks cool, but it could have gone either way with the Protectobot leader. I don't know him well enough.

"He likes it. It's already up on the wall." First Aid's mouth briefly touches on a sensitive spot just shy of my collar bone. I gasp, pushing into the touch, but he's already moving away. "I'm getting comms from all over the base, love. I think we need to continue this later. You need to put in a public appearance."

I sigh, and then pout at him for emphasis. "Aw, do I have to?"

"Hey, don't look at me," he grins. "I'm not the one who cooked up this mad scheme. Come on." He grabs hold of my ankles and pull, until I'm sliding down the bed and into his waiting arms. "Let's get you presentable."

First Aid stands up, all sleek muscle and fluid grace, and I just stare at him as he wanders over to my wardrobe and pulls out a dress.

And I can't resist it. I just can't. "You know, I do think that pants are a better look for you. Though I guess you could probably rock a kilt, you've got the legs for it."

He laughs at that, throwing the garment at me. "Here. Put that on."

"I obey and serve, master."

First Aid smiles at me, and everything's good.

* * *

By the time I've gotten dressed, been driven across base to my mess hall, fetched my own breakfast and been taken back to my customary dining area, First Aid has fielded over a dozen comms. He keeps telling them to meet us in the mess hall – it's gotten to the point where I almost dread walking in there. I'm seriously debating whether or not to ask First Aid to just take me home instead where I can eat my breakfast in peace when he transforms around me and carries me inside.

Into the very, very crowded mess hall. There are almost more 'bots here today than there were on the day when Ramhorn and Steeljaw returned. And they're all staring at me.

I wave a bit, call back "You're welcome" and "My pleasure" to the ones who're shouting their thanks, and just thank my lucky star – or Autobot – that I don't have to navigate the room on foot. I would never get anywhere.

First Aid deposits me on my customary table, where the cassette twins are already seated. Eject bounces up and hugs me before I even have the chance to sit down.

"You gonna help me end the war?" he grins widely.

That again. I hope they're joking. They have to be joking, right? Neither Eject or First Aid can actually expect me to end the war, can they? Because that's ridiculous. I'm just a human.

I decide that they're joking. For my own sanity's sake.

"What can I say, I like your idea," I grin back. "Might have to convince the 'Cons to play in holoform, though."

"That'll even the playing field," he grins. "With everyone gearing their holoforms to be as kickaft as possible."

Rewind whistles softly, and we both turn to look at him.

"Don't mind me," he grins sheepishly. "I was just wondering what a Seeker's holoform looks like."

There's a moment of quiet as we all contemplate that. It's an intriguing mental image.

I bet Thundercracker would be _hot_.

"Yeah, well," Eject continues after a moment, looking more than a little discomfited. "Don't take your eyes off the ball yet. First we have to convince them that it's a good idea. And find some way to make sure nobody cheats." He turns back to me. "We'd need to lay down some ground rules. You should get Laserbeak on it."

"Good idea," I giggle. "Hey, speaking of her, you want to come down and visit her with me the next time I go? I think seeing another cassette would do her good."

He looks surprised at that. "Me? Oh, um. Sure, I think? If you think it'll help? I have to check with the big guy, though."

"Ah, he'll be fine with it, you know that," Rewind says, smiling. "He's fine with pretty much everything. And he's pretty happy with Isobel right now." He reaches over, takes my hand. "Thank you for the present. That was wicked."

"He's begun reading them already," Eject teases. "And thank you, Isobel, he'll be much harder to live with now that he has all those quite interesting facts to spout."

"Glad to know I got it right." I shoot them a smile and take a bite out of my bagel.

"I think you got a lot of 'bots right," Rewind says. "I haven't heard anyone say anything else yet. How many presents did you actually buy?"

I frown. "Around twenty, I think. I never actually counted."

"I know you hit the bullseye with Blaster and Jazz," Eject says. "And Bluestreak said that Sides and Sunny and Bee were thrilled, too. Especially Sunny." He grins. "Look."

I turn in the direction he's pointing. Sunstreaker just walked in, and he's shinier than I've ever seen him – sparkly, almost. And smirking proudly to boot.

"I think you've made a friend for life," Eject giggles.

First Aid comes back with an energon cube then, followed by Prowl and Blaster. The latter is carrying three cubes, and he puts the smaller two down on the table between the cassettes.

"Thank you for the present, Isobel," Prowl says with a small smile. "It was very thoughtful."

"What did you get, sir?" Eject asks curiously.

"A strategic board game and a philosophy book on war," Prowl replies. "I've begun reading the book, and I look forward to learning the game. Though Jazz has already said he has no intentions of playing with me."

"Prime probably will," Blaster says. "He likes those kind of games. Mirage, too." He shoots me a grin. "I'm going to be keeping everyone awake practicing, Isobel. Thanks, girl."

"My pleasure. Thought it was about time you learned to play the guitar."

Rewind groans, though. "Says you. You don't have to recharge with him."

That has the others laughing, and I giggle along with them.

"Jazz got a guitar, too," Prowl says wryly. "Thank you very much, Isobel."

That cinches it. I laugh until I can't sit up straight. And I'm still laughing when Optimus walks in through the door and calls for everyone's attention. It takes Rewind prodding me repeatedly to get me to shut up enough to actually hear what the Prime is saying.

"Merry Christmas," Optimus says, optics crinkling in what I've learned to recognize as a smile. "I know it's a festive occasion, and that many of us owe a certain blonde psychologist thanks for such a bright start to the day. And Smokescreen, if you have a wager running on this – Isobel managed to get me to read a comic book."

"I did, actually," a tricolored mech says from over in the corner. "Not a big payout though. And it was for the kind of comic, not when. Isobel?"

He turns towards my table, and I wave. "Hello, Smokescreen. Nice to meet you. They're called _Confucius speaks_. It's based on the writing of an ancient Chinese philosopher."

Smokescreen just stares at me. I get a feeling I ruined his betting pool.

"Regardless," Optimus continues, "I have news I have to share with you. And since you're all here, barring those that are on duty, I ask for a moment of your time." He pauses, looks around at the assembled mechs. "We just received information that the Decepticon attack on the Californian power plants a few weeks back were most likely part of a larger scheme. Threats have been made against similar installations in Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico. This has lead the government of the United States to a higher level of threat preparation, and they're calling in all available assets." He pauses again. "In short, they want us back. And I've agreed. So, three days from now, we're moving bases. We're returning to California with all N.E.S.T. personnel."

"Aw, we're moving now? Can't we wait until after New Year's?"

"I am sorry, Bumblebee," Optimus replies wryly. "I'm afraid security threats take priority over parties, much as I enjoyed the last one."

There's spread chuckling at that, and I see Bumblebee duck his head and grin.

"As you know," the Prime continues, "many of the soldiers are already away on leave. So we will be packing up the human half of the base as well. We have much to do and limited time to do it in, so I expect all of you to contribute wherever possible. Thank you."

I sit staring after the Prime's done, teeth worrying at my lower lip slightly. I've never been part of a base move before. I'm not a hundred percent certain I'm part of this one. I'm technically not N.E.S.T. personnel.

First Aid notices, of course. "Don't worry, love," he murmurs, one finger gently stroking down my back. "We're not leaving you behind."

"You have a higher security clearance than anyone here except the command staff," Prowl says. "You're a valued resource. You're coming with us." He eyes me, doorwings twitching minutely. "If you want to, of course."

I snort. "Of course I want to. Apparently, I'm as invested in this as you are." I wink at Eject. "Can't help you end the war if I'm not with you, can I." He nods eagerly.

I turn to Prowl. "What about Laserbeak?"

"She's coming," the SIC replies. "She's still a prisoner, so we have to bring her." He puts his cube down. "Will you tell her? She seems to be more at ease around you."

I nod. "Sure. Hey Blaster, mind if Eject tags along with me to visit Laserbeak? It would be helpful."

The red and gold Autobot grins and shakes his head. "Nah, my main girl, that's all good. He can go if he wants."

Eject looks at me expectantly. "That's that settled, then. So when are we going?"

I eye the empty cube in front of him and my empty tray. "No time like the present, is there? First Aid, mind giving me a lift down?"

"Sure," my obliging Protectobot replies, picking me up gently. "Ratchet wants me to come help pack down med bay. I don't know when I'll be off-duty again, but I'll find you, okay?"

"Okay," I agree. I can entertain myself for the rest of the day if need be. I do have other friends, and I can pack up stuff with the best of them. I've moved around too much to not learn that. "Eject?"

"Coming," the chipper cassette replies, climbing down to the floor under his own power.

Huh. Maybe I should learn to do that.

Then again, Eject's probably stronger than me. By, like, a lot. I might not be able to learn.

But I can sure try.

Another time, though. For now, I let Eject walk in front of me, following in the path he makes through the crowd. He seems less worried that he'll be stomped on than I am. I guess he's used to navigating among bots many times his size.

When we get outside, though, he pauses and looks around. "Would be good to get a ride," he muses, "we'd get there faster."

"What," I mock, "you don't walk?"

He flashes me a grin. "Not unless there's a medal in the other end. I'd rather move faster." He nods at something behind my shoulder. "And you can't get much faster than that. Hey, Blurr!"

Suddenly, there's a tall blue and white Autobot next to me. I'd swear he wasn't anywhere near us a moment ago.

"HeyEjectwhat'supdidyouneedanything?"

I blink. I know there were words in there, I could see his mouth moving, but the wall of sound doesn't make any sense.

"Yeah, could you give us a ride to the brig? We have a prisoner to visit."

"OhyeahIheardthatwehadaConprisonerherethatwasunexpectedihadtoadmitbutatleastwecaughtherhuh?Who'sthisanyway?"

Eject smiles at my look. I'm trying to look attentive and polite, and I'm apparently failing miserably. And I'm still not understanding a word this Blurr is saying.

"Blurr, this is Isobel Harrington, our resident psychologist and First Aid's girl. Isobel, this is Blurr. He's a fast talker and an even faster runner."

Blurr grins and throws a salute. "Nicetomeetyou."

That I actually understood. "Nice to meet you too."

Blurr folds down into a light blue sports car alt mode and opens his door. Eject grins at me, then pauses before getting in. "Blurr, listen. Isobel's human, so you can't take off before she's seated properly and has her seatbelt on, and you can't go full speed because that'll turn her into pulp, okay?"

"OfcourseEjectI'mnotstupidyouknowIknowhumansarefragile."

I get in carefully, fastening my seatbelt. And then holding on to the seat for bare life when Blurr accelerates faster than any thrill ride I've ever taken and barrels down the road like someone lit a fire in his tailpipe or something. I hear a high-pitched squeal, and realize after a half-second that I'm hearing myself, keening at the top of my lungs and grinning like a maniac.

Of course, at that breakneck speed, we're there almost before we've left. It's the fastest I've ever travelled on the ground, and I have a sneaking suspicion we even outpaced most aircraft. When Blurr slows to a stop, carefully, it takes me a moment to get my body to realize that we're not moving anymore.

"That was totally awesome!" I grin madly, practically bouncing in my seat. "Blurr, you are amazing!"

"ThankyouIsobelthat'sniceofyoutosayI'mgladIdidn'tscareyouIknowmosthumansdon'tlikegoingtoofast."

"That wasn't too fast," Eject replies, getting out of the car. "That was perfect. Thanks, man."

Blurr waits until I've gotten out of the car before spinning around and taking off again, revving his engine at us as he does. "Noproblembyeguys!"

I meet Eject's optics, grinning. "Well, that was fun."

"Blurr loves speed," he grins back. "If you want, he'll probably do some drag-racing up and down the airstrip with you."

"Might be fun," I agree. "Later, maybe. C'mon, I bet she's waiting for us. She gets bored when she's by herself all day."

But when we get downstairs, Laserbeak is not alone. Bluestreak is sitting outside the cell, leaning up against the deactivated bars and chatting animatedly. He waves when he sees us.

"Hi you two! Come to visit?"

"You bet," I reply, walking up to the cell. "How are you doing today, girl?"

"Her pedes hurt," Bluestreak explains, turning towards the cassette. "She doesn't want to walk on them anymore. She's happy enough, though."

"She told you?" Eject asks from behind me, walking carefully up to the cell.

"She didn't have to," Bluestreak replies, "I can tell from the way she's standing and moving and such, can't you? Also, she's a flier, she's not meant to be on her pedes, but the cell isn't big enough for her to fly, so she has no choice. I think she's happy that you're here."

"I'm glad you're hanging out with her instead of just sitting upstairs," I comment, walking over and unlocking the door. "And since you're here, I can go inside the cell. You have to be as good as Sideswipe at making sure she doesn't maul me, right?"

Bluestreak grins. "She's not going to maul you. Go inside. You can too, Eject, if you want, I mean. I'm sure it's fine."

I open the door and walk over to the bird cassette, sitting down next to her. "Hey, Laserbeak. Prime wanted me to tell you that we're moving bases in a few days. You're coming with." I smile slightly at her questioning chirp. "Don't worry. We'll make sure you're okay. Now let me look at those pedes."

Eject shuffles closer hesitantly. "Um, hi. Laserbeak. I'm Eject. I'm one of Blaster's cassettes."

The bird in my lap tilts her head and chirps at him, and he grins back. "Yeah, I believe that. Blaster hasn't sent us into action that often. I know you, though."

It takes me a moment to understand that she's comming him. It's a good sign.

"You've infiltrated our bases often enough," Eject continues, sitting down. "I bet you've seen me and my brother wreaking havoc, though. And I've seen your brothers, too. It's cool, actually, we both have cybercat brothers." He grins. "You don't have a Ramhorn, though."

Laserbeak laughs her chirping laugh again, edging slightly closer to Eject. I move a bit to make it simpler for her.

Eject stretches out a hand to her uncertainly. "I bet you miss them."

Laserbeak chirps softly and presses her head into his hand.

I'm practically holding my breath as Eject's fingers slowly caress the metal plating, reaching out with his other hand to stroke along her back plates. And when Laserbeak slowly, nervously, edges from my lap to his, I exchange an incredulous look with Bluestreak.

And then I grin triumphantly. I _knew_ she was craving contact. I _knew_ this was a good idea.

And I think I just had another one.

"Bluestreak, this cell isn't that big," I say, looking around and pretending not to look at the way Laserbeak is curling up on Eject's lap. "What happens if you have a captive who's bigger? I bet you can't fit a Seeker in here."

"We could, if he curled up," Bluestreak replies, "but you're right, it's not that big. Usually, for bigger mechs, we take down some of the cell walls or construct a bigger one. The walls for the bigger one are already here, see?" He points, and I do see.

The ceiling has bars. I hadn't noted that before. And there's a row of concealed holes in the floor, sized about right for the bars that are surrounding me.

"You can construct a bigger cell," I say slowly.

"Yeah, this whole room is a cell, see?"

Then I grin. Widely. "Then why the heck don't we do that? I know we're leaving in three days, but that could be three days of flying for her, letting her rest her pedes."

Bluestreak just stares at me. Then his eyes focus inward. I'm hoping he's comming Prowl or Optimus or someone who matters.

Out of the corner of my eye, I sneak a glance at the two cassettes. Laserbeak is curled up against Eject, burrowing in close to his plating, and his arms are encircling her comfortingly. He notices me looking, and I have to suppress a giggle – I've never seen a more surprised look in my life.

"Told you it would be helpful," I murmur quietly, smiling down at the cassette. "She's been feeling very alone."

"She's telling me about it," he whispers back. "About recharging alone, waking up alone, never feeling the others in her spark. She's been alone before, but she's never been cut off like this. And she's cold a lot of the time. Soundwave apparently has them spending the time either in his chest or in their quarters, so she's usually always close to someone. They're always sharing heat and thoughts." White fingers move gently over white plating. "Thanks for bringing me down here, Isobel."

"I should thank you," I point out. "Not many would accept such close quarters with a Decepticon. Many wouldn't think she deserved it."

"She's a cassette who happens to be a 'Con," he replies. "The 'Con part is actually less important right now. To her, too. She's Soundwave's cassette first, Megatron's Decepticon second."

The door opens, and a pair of strong blue legs come into sight. Behind them a pair of white ones are following.

"Bluestreak tells me you had a rather brilliant thought, Isobel," Optimus says, ducking his head slightly as he comes to the base of the stairs. "The changes are fairly easy to make, too – between the three of us we should be able to fix it easily."

At his approach, Laserbeak cowers even further into Eject's lap, hiding her head under his arm. She'd look like nothing more than a pile of scrap metal for someone who didn't look too closely.

Eject, to his eternal credit, lets her hide in his arms, simply pulling her closer and crooning to her. Optimus smiles when he sees them, but doesn't comment.

Between Bluestreak, Optimus himself, and the owner of the white legs (who turned out to be Prowl), there are soon bars blocking the open space of the room, and the other five cells have been taken down.

"Are you ready?" Optimus says, kneeling down in front of the bars. I nod, moving aside so he can see the cassettes.

"Laserbeak," Optimus rumbles softly. Eject gently coaxes her head back out from under his arm. "Laserbeak, I'm sorry. We've kept you under conditions that aren't acceptable, not allowing you to stretch your wings, and resulting in you becoming injured. This will change now, at least for a few days, until we relocate. So if you promise to behave, as you have up till now, I'm taking down these bars and letting you fly."

Laserbeak's staring at him. I don't need a comm device to tell what she's thinking.

"Does that sound good, Beaky?" Eject murmurs, loosening his hold on her until he can hold her up with his hands. "You just have to agree. And I know what you want. Let us help you."

Laserbeak lifts her head up and stares at the Prime for a moment. And then Optimus and the others smile. "Excellent. Let's get these bars down."

The look in Laserbeak's optics as the bars around her are dismantled is going to stay with me until I'm done. She chirps once, softly, nuzzles briefly against Eject's hand, and then takes off.

The room isn't big. But it's heaven compared to what she's been living in for the last three weeks. Laserbeak flies around and around, turning, diving and spinning, and I can't stop the grin on my face.

Optimus leans down towards me. "Very good, sparklet. I'm proud of you."

I groan. "Oh, don't you start as well. I'm not an infant."

"You're dear to us," he replies. "And so we use terms of endearment." He smirks at me. Optimus Prime. Smirking. "Deal with it."

Laserbeak does another circuit above our heads, and then flies in to land next to Eject. She fumbles her landing slightly, and I remember why this was a good idea in the first place. "Ratchet needs to look at her," I murmur to Optimus. "Her pedes are shot. I managed to work the kinks out last time I looked at them, but there's fraying and wear now."

"I'll comm him," the Prime nods. "We do not mistreat our prisoners, Isobel. Not on purpose."

"I know," I reply. "Thanks for this."

As Optimus smiles at me, I walk over to where Laserbeak's sitting. "The medic's coming to take a look at your pedes, okay? I'm going to go now, I have some packing to do. I'll come by again tomorrow."

Eject stretches out a hand towards Laserbeak again, and she leans into his hand. "I'm going to stay a while longer, if that's okay," he murmurs, fingers gently stroking Laserbeak's shoulder.

"Of course," Optimus agrees, and I know I'm not the only one who can hear how pleased he is.

Looks like the Prime might be getting his wish. Maybe we can win them over, one at the time.

* * *

I'm woken up by fingers gently stroking down my bare back. It's dark outside, and my alarm's showing a time most sane people should be sleeping.

Not my Protectobot, though.

"Hey, Aid," I mumble sleepily. "Ratchet finally let you go?"

"Yeah, inventory's all packed down," he murmurs, fingers finding every sore muscle in my back and soothing them away. "Tomorrow, I'm helping with the human med bay. You want to come?"

"Yeah, sure," I breathe. "I have to visit Beaky at some point, though. I promised."

"Well, look at that," he chuckles softly, fingers moving up my neck. "You just used a nickname for a Decepticon."

"Huh. That I did." I sigh contentedly, already dozing off again. "I guess there's hope after all."

I barely notice the arms encircling me and the face pressed against my neck as First Aid lies down next to me. "Guess there is."


	21. Jetlagged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references "Meanwhile, at Diego Garcia" and "Slag the way things are". Both are part of the series, but you don't have to read them to make sense of this.

_California is nothing like Diego Garcia. The climate is different, for one, and the air. I know it's supposed to rain, or snow even in some parts, but it's so dry here that there's rationing going on. The 'Bots are a bit unhappy about that – it takes a lot of water and solvent to get someone the size of Bluestreak clean, so with rationing in place they don't really get clean. Sunstreaker's_ livid _. But that's not the biggest difference._

_The biggest difference is the base itself, and what it entails._

_You would think that one military base is much the same as another, but apparently that's not the case for Autobots. Because here, they're not that autonomous anymore. They're sharing. With the US Air Force. And frickin' NASA._

_Yeah. NASA. I bet they're thrilled to have an actual sentient alien space shuttle on their base. If Skyfire was the type to giggle, I bet he would be. There's bound to be friction._

_Yeah, the space is bigger. The accommodation's better. We're closer to civilization, which has all manner of fascinating implications._

_But the sharing bit. That's going to be interesting._

* * *

The move, as such things go, has been uneventful. There's been cargo planes going back and forth for a few days, and Skyfire has made at least three round trips. A few Autobots – Prowl, Red Alert, Ironhide – left two days ago, and today the rest of us are finally moving.

I get to ride in Skyfire with Bumblebee, Blaster and the cassettes, the two femmes and the Protectobots (minus Blades, who got to fly with the Aerialbots). With Blaster playing his music and Groove and Bumblebee taking advantage of the open space in the center of Skyfire's hold to teach Eject and Rewind our dancing routine, the mood is more party than long-distance flight. I'm sitting in First Aid's lap watching the fun, and glad for once to not be the one everyone's looking at. It's embarrassing enough to have it all on Youtube.

When Skyfire's smooth voice announces that we're landing soon, my darling Protectobot straps me into my seat with all his usual care. And a less customary smirk as he tightens the harness.

"What?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He just grins, one finger running the length of my leg. "Thought of another use for these straps," he murmurs, quietly enough that I hope nobody else heard it.

Though, from the way Blaster's grinning from the seat opposite me, I think it wasn't as quiet as I could have wished. And Skyfire's vibrating in quiet laughter, the cheeky bastard.

Skyfire touches down softly, of course, on the biggest landing strip I've ever seen (it seems to be half salt flats), and taxes over to a group of low buildings where three other planes are waiting as well. As he opens his cargo hold door, I see the row of human soldiers standing at attention behind an older man with enough metal on his chest to make him resemble a cassette. He's frowning sternly, eyeing Skyfire.

I suddenly feel underdressed, and I'm really wishing that there had been more humans for me to travel with. As it is, I'm sticking out like a sore thumb.

No changing that now, though. So after Arcee and Chromia disembarking elegantly, Bumblebee and Blaster (with the cassettes in their slots) walking out in step and standing at the Autobot version of attention, and Hot Spot leading Groove, Streetwise and First Aid out, little old me shuffles down the ramp, as professional a look on my face as I can muster, and walking to stand next to First Aid as Skyfire transforms behind us.

The major general's eyes follow me as I move across the tarmac, and they aren't the only ones. I can tell more than one of the soldiers are wondering what the heck a blond little civilian's doing flying with the Autobots. There will be questions later.

Thankfully, now, their focus is broken by Optimus Prime disembarking from the plane on Skyfire's left and walking towards the humans.

"Optimus Prime," the medal-encumbered figure nods, looking up at the towering leader of the Autobots.

"Hello, major general Caddock," Optimus replies. "Thank you for meeting us."

"Of course," Caddock replies. "We're glad to have you. If you and your staff would come with me, I'll have someone show your men to their barracks."

I suppress a smile. This guy's in for a steep learning curve.

Optimus, ever the diplomat, just nods and turns in the indicated direction. "Ratchet, Jazz, Wheeljack, follow us, please."

As they walk away, another officer – a major, this time – walks up to stand in front of us. "Welcome to Edwards Air Force Base," he barks. "I am Major Derek Meissner. We have prepared accommodation for you based on the prerequisites set forth by Autobot Prowl." He waves a hand, and three other soldiers take a step up to stand in front of us. "Aerialbots, Skyfire, please follow Captain Matthews. Protectobots, please follow Lieutenant Decker."

The fliers move off after the tall Captain, walking alongside him at a painstakingly slow pace. First Aid shoots me a smile before transforming. "See you later." He follows Streetwise as the jeep opens his door to the uniformed redhead who looks younger than me. She smiles as she gets into his alt mode.

"All right. All other Autobots, please follow Second Lieutenant Álvarez."

I look around as the others follow the last officer, a dark-haired man who looks to be in his mid-twenties and is trying very hard to not look intimidated by aliens three times his size.

I'm not 'other Autobots'. For a moment I stand there bewildered, unsure what to do, but then another person approaches me.

She stops in front of me, standing at ease. "You're doctor Isobel Harrington, correct?"

"Yes, that's me," I nod.

"Good. I'm Technical Sergeant Parker Jamieson. Come with me, please."

I follow the brown ponytail over to a military vehicle idling near the edge of the tarmac. Jamieson opens the car door for me, then gets in on the other side. The car begins moving, and as we go the opposite way from the Autobots I can't stop myself from turning and looking after them.

"Civilians are housed in barracks on the other side of the base, away from the main army buildings," Jamieson says briskly. "You are a civilian under contract, so a room has been prepared for you there." She hands me a file. "This contains your updated schedule as well as a timetable for the next couple of days."

I open the file. The next days are apparently all meet-and-greets, information meetings, introductions, the usual bureaucracy that comes with base transfers. My updated schedule, though…

It looks as though someone's printed my schedule from Diego Garcia, but with only half of the N.E.S.T. soldiers still on it. And my Monday appointments with Optimus and Sunstreaker are gone.

I look at my co-passenger. She's looking straight ahead, the no-nonsense expression back on her face. I'd bet she's younger than me, but she doesn't look it. "Why has my counseling session plan been changed?"

"Half the N.E.S.T soldiers have been transferred to Joint Base Andrews, to work closer with the president," she replies, still not looking at me. "General Cadock thought it would be a waste of time to have you travelling there to treat them several times a week. Another psychologist has been appointed, and you will be kept as a consulting expert at need."

"I see." Well, the arrangement isn't unfamiliar. I'm a bit surprised that they decided to split up the team, but there's probably a good reason behind it. "And the Autobots? I had specific sessions set up with them."

"The Autobots?" Now she does look at me, as though I'm mildly deranged. "They are machines. Surely they do not need a psychologist."

I just blink.

That attitude is… interesting. And it comes with a whole cargo plane's worth of implications.

"I believe they found the arrangement beneficial," I reply mildly.

"You are contracted to the United States military, with a sub-contract to the Non-biological Extra-terrestrial Species Treaty," Jamieson replies, eyeing me sternly. "There's nothing in there about offering the aliens medical treatment. I was under the impression that their own medic would handle all Autobot repairs."

"I have had this discussion with Optimus Prime and Ratchet when I was first transferred to Diego Garcia," I say, frowning slightly. "It was their request that I do this, not mine."

"Then they'll have to put in the request again, and run it through the proper channels," Jamieson says, as if it's all decided. "And if you have any complaints, you will take them up with the major general." End of discussion, thank you, moving on now. "We're here."

The building is low, long, and definitely a top-ten contender in the Ugliest army building in the world-contest. It's painted some sort of greyish yellow – Sunstreaker will have fits – and though it looks properly maintained, that's about the only good thing that can be said for it.

"You're in 3C," Jamieson informs me as she opens the door to Drearyville. "We've had your belongings moved in already, though you'll have to unpack them yourself. This is you." We stop outside a nondescript door, another one in a long line of doors, and she unlocks it before handing me the key and motioning for me to go inside. "If you have any questions, I'm your primary contact. My number's in your file. Please don't hesitate to ask if you need anything."

The way she says it though, she definitely doesn't want to be called.

"My office?" I ask, figuring that it's better to ask now than to actually have to find her and ask later.

"Down the road and to the left, second building, fourth entrance, next to the first and third aircraft hangars," she replies as she turns to leave. "There's a map in your file. Now if you'll excuse me."

The door closes, and just like that I'm alone.

I look around in my new home. It's hard to tell what it looks like, what with all the boxes, but the color's better than outside at least.

I pull up my sleeves and open the nearest box.

* * *

Three hours later, and it looks much better. The apartment – if it can be called that – is one long room, with a bathroom just inside the front door and the double bed partially hidden behind a screen in the other end. There's a sofa, a reading chair and a TV in the middle of the room, a pair of book cases over at the foot of the bed, a small water boiler and microwave on the wall between the bathroom and the sofa, and a wardrobe in the small hallway opposite the bathroom door.

Home sweet home. Now that it's geekified with my posters up and my collectibles placed in strategic spots around the room, it even looks the part. Sort of.

Not that I want to stay in here. Besides, I'm getting hungry. So, armed with a map and the GPS on my cell phone, I get ready to go out and hunt for food and company. And hope that some of that company is in the form of tall, metallic and familiar.

Turns out, I don't need to go very far. When I turn around from having locked the door, Streetwise is standing there waiting for me.

Apparently, I needn't have worried about not seeing the Autobots.

"Hey, Isobel," Streetwise grins, pale-haired holoform leaning up against his own alt mode. "Want to get out of here for a while?"

I grin and walk towards the police vehicle. "Streetwise, I would love that."

"As my lady pleases." He opens the passenger door for me with a bow, and I giggle.

"So how long have you been standing out here anyway?"

"Oh, about half an hour," he says, getting into the car next to me. "Figured you'd be getting hungry, and since we just flew across something like twelve time zones your stomach says 'lunch time' while everyone else wonders why the hell you aren't in bed already."

Huh. He's right. I hadn't actually noticed that it was getting dark outside.

"So, since the food here's served at very specific times, we thought we'd need to take you out to dinner! Or First Aid did, anyway. But he's stuck in a meeting with Ratchet and the base medics, so you get me instead." He flashes me a small, somewhat shy smile. "Hope you're not too disappointed."

I shake my head. "You're cool, Streetwise. I look forward to hanging out with you."

"That's great." He grins, and for a moment I can see the family resemblance. He looks like First Aid when he grins that tiny smile of his. Then it's gone, and I see Streetwise again. "It's not just me, though. We have company."

Just as he says that, and with a grace that tells of careful coordination over comms (hooray for alliterative descriptions), Jazz swings in in front of us, and Sideswipe and Sunstreaker come up behind. I can see Blurr behind them, and the shape of someone bigger than him behind him again.

"Hey, it's an Autobot group outing," I giggle, grinning as Arcee comes up alongside Streetwise, her holoform waving at us through Streetwise's tinted windows. "How many are coming, anyway?"

"Jazz has Blaster, and then it's Arcee, the twins, Blurr, Bluestreak, Hound and Trailbreaker," Streetwise replies, waving back at the motorcycle. "We wanted to see the sights. Do you know we're not that far north of Los Angeles? I'd bet we could get there in less than an hour." Then he smiles ruefully. "Or we could if we didn't have to follow the speed limits."

"Primus forbid we break those," I reply, leaning back against his seat. "This was a good idea."

It was. Driving with the Autobots is awesome – I don't have to focus on the road, I don't have to worry about them losing control. I can just kick back and relax.

So I do. I kick my shoes off, tilt the seat back. "Hey Streetwise, can we have some music?"

"I can turn on the radio," he replies, smiling slyly, "but we have something better. Have you heard our comms before?"

The next moment, I can hear all their voices. Blurr and Bluestreak, talking over each other and neither making any sense. Trailbreaker pointing out an interesting something along the road. Sunstreaker warning them to stay off his six,

"- or by Primus I'll shove your exhaust down your intakes."

"Cool it, Sunshine, they're keeping their distance," Sideswipe chimes in.

Streetwise chuckles, then raises his voice. "Hey, Blaster, the princess has a request."

I raise my eyebrows at him. Princess?

Streetwise just grins, though he does duck his head a bit.

"My main girl!" Blaster replies. "What's your desire, darlin'?"

"Driving music," I call back. "Something with snap, and speed, and bucketloads of attitude!"

"Like me in music form," Sideswipe quips, and I laugh.

"Exactly! Play something Sideswipe!"

"You got it, doll," Blaster says, and then the music fills Streetwise's cab.

"Rihanna?" Sideswipe sounds offended, and I laugh so hard that my cheeks hurt.

"Yeah, girl got sass, 'tude, and rhythm," Blaster says, and I can just hear the smirk in his voice and the snarl in Sideswipe's. It's enough to keep me laughing all the way until we get to where Jazz has decided we should go.

Which turns out to be a diner. Sixties style.

Well, at least they have food. Even if I'm the only one who's going to be eating.

Except I'm not. When the holoforms of Blurr and Sideswipe follow us inside, each of them is followed by one of the soldiers I saw earlier.

"You're Isobel Harrington, right?" the redhead says, grinning. "I'm Alice, Alice Decker. I liaison to the Protectobots."

"Yeah, I saw you earlier," I reply, shaking the proffered hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"And this is Matías Álvarez," Sideswipe says, prodding at the other soldier. "C'mon, Matt, say hi to Isobel. She doesn't bite." He winks at me. "Much."

"Oh, shush, you." I reach out, shake Álvarez's hand too. "Hi. It's good to meet you. Thanks for putting up with my pack of delinquents."

"Hah, no problem," he grins, a faint trace of an accent coloring his words. "Although it'll take me some time to get used to them."

"I know exactly what you mean," I say with feeling. "So if you have any questions, just ask, okay? Hey, you guys are getting food, right?" I look at Alice's pondering expression. "Please. Don't make me the freak who's the only one eating in the whole group."

She smiles slowly, a dimple appearing on one cheek. "Well, I could murder a milkshake. And maybe a cheeseburger."

I smile, grab hold of her arm to pull her towards the counter. "Excellent."

When we come back, Streetwise has used his excellent organizational skills to get everyone seated. I dump down in the seat next to him gratefully, putting my soda down in front of me.

When I look up, I look straight into Hound's eyes.

Well, crap. I should have looked where I was sitting down, then I would have picked another seat. This Autobot is fairly high up on my 'Mechs I don't want to talk to' list.

"Hey, Isobel," he says, softly enough that I don't think anyone else can hear him. "I'm Hound. And I owe you an apology." He shifts slightly, darts a glance at the others sitting close to us. No one appears to pay him any mind. "I know 'Raj already apologized to you, but I want to say how sorry I am for my part in it. I never wanted you to be hurt. I owe you one, actually, for keeping him happy this fall."

I put my chin in my hand, consider him. He looks okay enough. And Bee did say that Hound was one of the friendliest, most easy-going mechs around.

So I make an effort. I don't have to hang out with him afterwards, right? I can avoid him just as I am Mirage.

"It's okay," I reply. "As you said, he already apologized. So we're good." Then I raise an eyebrow at him as what he said hits me. "I kept him happy?"

"'Raj is… a bit of a loner. He doesn't socialize well with others." Hound smiles at me tentatively. "But for some reason, he managed to relax with you. It meant more to him than you might think."

I digest that for a moment. "Huh. Is that why he never talked to me in daytime?"

"I suspect so." Hound chuckles. "He's not big on talk. Not unless he's completely comfortable with someone."

And I can hear it. The way Hound talks about him. It's the same way Prowl was talking about Jazz, the same way Sides was talking about his brother when he was trying to explain the bond.

Honest-to-God true love, right there.

So I smile at him. There's really not much else to do. "I get it. It's nice to meet you, Hound."

He relaxes as if I've pulled a weight off his shoulders or something. "It's very nice to meet you too, Isobel." He smiles, nods at the holoform sitting next to him listening to what Jazz is explaining to Alice. "Hey, have you met Trailbreaker?"

I shake my head. "I have not."

At the sound of his name, Trailbreaker turns, gives me a small smile. "Isobel, right? Pleasure."

Holy crap.

Trailbreaker's gone full native.

And by that, I don't mean 'cocky hillbilly with a barbecue apron and a shotgun'. I mean long, black, straight, silky hair, dark eyes glinting at me, skin with a glow of its own.

He's beautiful.

"Hi, Trailbreaker," I say, and I have to work to get my voice up to its normal volume. I'm floored, here. "Likewise."

Hound shoots me a grin, and I realize that Bee was right. I can work with this.

"Hey, Isobel," Álvarez says from his seat next to Streetwise, interrupting my slight blush and fumbling - and thank goodness for that. "Why did you call them 'your pack of miscreants?'"

Inspiration hits. I manage to avoid grinning evilly, though it's a close thing.

"Because I own them," I reply brightly. "Every single pink slip's in my name. The insurance papers too, though thankfully the army fields the cost for those. And the speeding tickets. If they hadn't I would be bankrupt ages ago. I mean, just the twins here amassed speeding tickets for several hundred dollars a week sometimes last time they were on the mainland." I smile indulgently at Sideswipe, who looks like I just stabbed him with a fork. A pitchfork. "I've had quite a few offers on them, too, the higher-line models in particular. Sunstreaker's worth a lot, so is Jazz, but the priciest one at the moment is actually Ironhide. I could sell him on the black market in the Middle East and make a fortune. He's an armed and armored vehicle in all meanings of the word."

Dead silence around the table. Everyone's staring at me. Alice has frozen with her fork halfway to her mouth, eyes the size of saucers, and Matías is just gaping at me. Even Bluestreak is silent, staring at me with wide eyes.

Jazz is grinning, the expression spreading slowly on his face.

I manage to stay quiet for another second before bursting. "I'm kidding!" I giggle. "It's a joke! Oh my God, you should have seen your faces!"

"Not funny," Sunstreaker grumbles.

"No, it was funny, Sunny mah mech," Jazz laughs. "Ya's just offended 'coz 'Hide woulda fetched more'n you."

Blurr, who up till this has been a solid wall of sound on my right, is chuckling too. "PitIsobelthatwasbrilliantdidyouseethelookontheirfaces?" He pauses then, stares at me. "Wouldyouactuallyhavesoldthem?Ifyouhadthepapersandcouldlegallydoso?"

"No one can issue any form of car ownership papers for an Autobot," I reply once I've deciphered what he actually asked. "Because you guys aren't cars. And even if it was possible, no one could own you. That would be slavery, and we have pretty strong laws against that kind of thing." I take a sip of my soda. "Besides, the export paperwork would be an absolute nightmare."

Jazz snorts a laugh. "'M sure Prowler coulda helped ya with that."

"Prowl?" I pretend to think it over. "He can learn the regulations, probably, and fill out all the forms… But if we're truly selling Ironhide to arms dealers or oil magnates in the Middle East, it might be better to cut through all the red tape instead of working with it."

Alice is giggling helplessly now, leaning against Trailbreaker.

"Sideswipe, then," Hound puts in. "He's good at underhanded negotiations."

"Sounds good," I agree. "Hey Sideswipe, want to help me smuggle Ironhide to the Middle East?"

He grins slyly at me, pretty optics glinting under dark eyebrows. "Depends. I'd need forty percent of the cut."

"Forty?" I exclaim. "That's outrageous. Twelve."

"Thirty-seven."

"Eighteen."

"Thirty-two."

"Twenty-one.

"Twenty-eight."

"Twenty-five."

"Done." He smirks. "But you handle the shipping costs and bribe money. I'm just there to facilitate."

Before long, we have a fully functioning plan on how to sell Ironhide to a Middle Eastern rich guy. There's not much money left in it for me, though – after paying off Hound to cover us, Mirage to sneak in and make the actual deal (Hound negotiated harder on his mate's behalf than on his own), Bluestreak and Sunstreaker as armed guards and Streetwise and Prowl to look the other way (and Jazz to broker the deal between myself and Prowl), I'm left with a measly five percent profit.

"I'm sorry, mechs," I say, shrugging sadly. "But this all proves too risky for me. One small mistake, and I'm in the red. I'm afraid I have to call the whole thing off."

"Aw, but we got so far," Sideswipe pouts. "We were almost rid of him."

"Maybe you'll get another chance at some point," Blaster chuckles. "The plan is already there. It can be adapted easily enough."

"Nah," Jazz says. "Too many people know 'bout it now. Ah think we have ta can the whole idea. Shame though." He grins a truly evil grin at me. "Woulda been fun."

I finish up my soda and smile back. "We can make another plan."

"Another time, maybe," Trailbreaker says, looking down at Alice dozing against his shoulder. "I think we should call it a night."

Streetwise proves just at efficient at getting everyone out as he was at getting everyone seated. He shoots me an apologetic look as Trailbreaker puts the sleeping redhead into the police car alt mode.

"It's okay," I comment quietly, smiling at him for good measure. "It's not like you were my only possibility for a ride home. And she is your liaison."

He nods, gives me a happy wave before getting into the car and driving off.

"Wanna ride back wi' me, sweetspark?" Jazz's holoform, only slightly taller than me, stops next to me. "Ah can guarantee ya a smooth ride?"

I giggle a bit at that, suddenly noticing that my hips have angled towards him without me consciously moving. He's just too hot for anyone's good. "Sure, is Blaster sporting the tunes or are you doing it?"

"Blaster's ridin' back wi' Blue," Jazz grins. "Apparently, there was somethin' needed discussin'."

"Oh, okay," I agree readily, sensing the gossip brewing. "Let's go, then."

He opens the door for me with a saucy grin. "After you, sweetspark."

I get in, lean back in the seat with a grateful groan. "Hooooly crap, Jazz, your seats are _amazing_."

"Ah live ta please," his voice replies. The door shuts, the car starts, and I'm still alone inside.

Apparently, I'm travelling without a holoform companion for this trip.

"What's on your mind, Jazz?"

"Can't a mech take a girl home without there bein' somethin' on his mind?"

"Not when he gets all defensive like that when asked a simple question," I retort. Honestly, you'd think he's forgotten that I'm a psychologist. "But if you want, you can start up with something easier, like why Blaster wanted to talk to Bluestreak."

"That's a private matter 'tween the two of them and 'Cee," he replies, but I can hear the smirk. "Somethin' about repayin' a favor, that's all Ah can say."

"Okay," I lean back, luxuriating for a moment in that seat that really is one of the best I've ever sat in. "If you don't have any juicy gossip to distract me, you're just going to have to tell me what's in your head."

There's silence for a few moments. I look out the window at the dark – it's closing on midnight, here, and Jazz's engine is nearly silent, its hum hypnotic. Combined with the streetlights flashing by faster than one would normally expect, I soon find myself relaxing with my head against the window.

"Ah wanted t' make sure that you were doin' okay," Jazz says finally. "Ah know there's been a lot goin' on for ya in the last month. Lotsa ups an' downs, if ya know what Ah mean?"

I straighten, look at the dashboard with a frown. I have no idea where the dash is compared to his actual form, but it's somewhere to focus. "What do you know?"

"Ah'm leader of Spec Ops," he replies calmly. "It's mah job ta know things. So Ah know things. Like where a certain spy spent his nights up until he overstayed his welcome. How the charms of a certain young medic was enough ta win the princess. How the medic's family reacted t'that. And what happened when the spy's partner returned from space."

"Sounds like you've been reading Earth fairy tales," I joke, but my heart's not in it.

"Your life's turned upside-down in the last three months," he replies softly. "Ah wouldn' be any kind of friend if Ah didn' check up on ya."

I hesitate. Much as Jazz gives the impression to know everything, he might not actually know _everything_. Still… "I'm okay, Jazz. You're right – the ups and downs have been rather more than I'm used to." I smile a bit, looking away from the dash and out at the road. Ahead, I can faintly make out Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, overtaking each other by turns. "As it is, the ups are greatly outweighing the downs. And I'm hopeful that some of the downs will work themselves out. I'm still working on the family thing. And the spy's partner's turned out to be a decent guy."

"Ah'm glad," he says, and I can hear the smile. "They all are, Isobel. If ya giv'em the chance."

"Jazz, in the time you've known me, when have I not given someone a chance?"

He chuckles. "Ya's right about that, sweetspark. Ah just don' want ya to give away so much that ya have nothin' left ta go on."

I don't really have a response to that.

Sooner than I'd anticipated, he slows to a stop outside my room. "Ya go get some rest, sweetspark," Jazz says quietly. "We'll see ya around."

"Sure thing," I agree, patting the dashboard as I get out. I pause outside the car, run a hand over his roof. "Hey, Jazz? Thanks for caring."

"'S what Ah do, sweetspark," he replies affectionately. "G'night, Isobel."

* * *

Get some rest, he said. Yeah right. I've got such a jet lag, I couldn't sleep if someone paid me. Also, I haven't slept alone since London, and now the bed's just too big for me alone.

So instead of lying there, tossing and turning and trying to sleep, I'm going for a run around base.

So what if it's two o'clock in the morning. At least I'll have the paths to myself.

Or not. I haven't even gotten past my own building when I'm joined by a slim, almost ethereal holoform, beautiful and elf-like with that long hair tied back in a ponytail.

"Hello, Isobel," Prowl says. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," I reply, giving him a brief smile. "If you can keep up."

"My legs are longer than yours," he observes wryly.

"Yeah, but it's not in the legs," I grin. "It's in the will."

I lengthen my stride, and for a while I outpace him easily. But then he catches up, of course.

"My calculations indicate that leg length can impact speed by as much as 46.7%," he says, sounding more smug than he looks.

I just chuckle, focus on matching his pace. "Can't argue with statistics."

"Indeed."

It's nice, running in the dark like this. Peaceful. And I was right – there's no one else out at this ungodly hour.

"Jazz wonders why you aren't recharging," Prowl says lightly.

I shrug as best I can while keeping the pace up. "Because my body's insisting it's late afternoon, and one shouldn't sleep during the day. It'll right itself eventually, I just need a few days. I'm not used to crossing time zones quite that quickly."

"Yes, Skyfire has more speed than your conventional airplanes," Prowl agrees. "Please talk to Ratchet if the lack of recharge continues."

"You got it." It's not that big of a concession to make. "Tell Jazz he should be in recharge, too."

"He waits for me," Prowl says softly, and the care in his voice is almost overwhelming. "He often waits for me." He straightens, increases the pace somewhat. "I came out here to tell you something. We have reached a decision concerning Laserbeak."

I slow slightly, look up at him. "Oh?"

"The brig here is not suited to her needs," he says simply. "And you made an impact on the Prime when you demonstrated how being imprisoned was detrimental to her health. We cannot in good conscience keep her locked up any longer." He frowns. "And we cannot just let her go, the Decepticons would never fear us again. So we have put out a suggestion to ransom her back to the Decepticons for concessions."

"I thought the 'Cons didn't have anything you need."

"That's true. We're going to suggest trading Laserbeak for a cessation in hostilities, for as long as Megatron is willing to give us. She's his favorite – we might get a month or so out of it, at least." He snorts – it sounds strange coming from such an angelic form. "Of course, we don't expect them to honor the agreement. It's mainly an excuse to let Laserbeak out."

"Well, I'm glad you're doing so," I reply, smiling. "It's the right thing to do."

"That is correct," Prowl nods. Then he gives me a rare smile. "We also have hopes that your interactions with her will have swayed her to our side, away from Megatron. She will not defect alone, but if she's back with her family, her opinion might influence them. And if we can pull Soundwave away from Megatron… Well, that would be a victory indeed."

"I can see that," I agree. "But, Prowl…" I slow down, don't quite know how to continue.

"Yes?" He looks at me attentively.

"When you know that being with the Decepticons is that bad," I murmur, not looking at him. "When you know how Megatron treats his subordinates… How can you let them go back there? How can you release them to that?"

"What choice do we have, Isobel?" he replies simply. "We can't lock every Decepticon away. Many of them need more than we can give them at this point. Many more of them won't take anything from us unless they're on the verge of permanently deactivating. And most of them will shoot us on sight." He sighs. "It brings me no joy to send them back to that – that tyrant. And I know it destroys Ratchet a little bit every time we send someone back. But we can't keep them permanently against their will, either."

"Yeah," I whisper. "I guess I can see that. It sucks, though."

"That it does," Prowl agrees, a faint frown marring his perfect forehead. "It sucks Unicron's own exhaust, to quote our eloquent medic. But it's what we're faced with. And who knows," he says wistfully. "Maybe the war will end. Without us eradicating each other."

I smile at him, reach out to stroke his shoulder. "We can always hope, right?"

"Indeed." He slows to a stop, and I realize that he's taken us in a smaller circuit than I intended. I'm back outside my own room. "Go recharge, Isobel. I'll see to it that your schedule tomorrow – later today, rather – is clear."

"Thanks, Prowl," I reply, yawning. Sleep is starting to sound pretty good. "I'll see you."

My bed is still too big. I guess I'm going to have to learn to live with that.

* * *

_I've gotten a flavor for this base in the last couple of days. I've wandered around in my free time, outside the introduction meetings, and now I'm getting close to finding my way between my room and my office. Progress!_

_My office is a decent space – nothing like I had at Diego Garcia, but workable. Not Autobot-sized. But then again, I'm not supposed to treat Autobots as they're not US military. Parker Jamieson is turning out to be quite a stickler for the rules, and she's breathing down my neck if I as much as look at an Autobot._

_I managed to snag Prime after one of the meetings, though, and he's promised to talk to Caddock on my behalf. So we'll see – I might have holoforms in my office again before I know it._

_In the meantime, just to be contrary and demonstrate that integration is very possible, I'm talking to every Autobot I see. Even if I haven't talked to them before. I've made some new acquaintances after we got here that way._

_Like Cliffjumper. I don't know how I didn't know we had a mech called Cliffjumper. Especially with the amount of ego he's got going for him. It's the kind that needs its own plate at the dinner table. He looks like a little red devil (little by Autobot standards), and he absolutely refuses to use a holoform, said it's pointless to dress up like an alien._

_I had to bite my lip hard to not laugh at that. Something tells me that he wouldn't appreciate being laughed at._

_And Perceptor. He's a real science geek, but he's… not very socially savvy, I guess you could say. Caddock was showing the bots some very fancy cutting-edge equipment meant for surveying deep space, and you could tell he was very proud of it. Until Perceptor takes one look at it and exclaims "Oh! Photon-sensoric ion detectors with extra-range broad specter analysis! I haven't seen something like this in vorns – how quaint!"_

_I did laugh at that. Silently. While hiding behind a desk. But I laughed until I couldn't breathe and Parker Jamieson stared daggers at me._

_Didn't make me any more popular with her._

_My office is fairly close to the Protectobot hangar. I ate my lunch with them yesterday. They've been set up next to the base's emergency responders, and are working alongside human law enforcement and ER services both on the base and off it. They seem very happy with the arrangement. Even Blades seemed to be almost smiling._

_Added benefit? They can see my office window from the front of their hangar. So I can signal them. It was Streetwise's idea, giving me a small torch-like lantern to use, but it's First Aid who's taking advantage of it (and if I'm honest, it was probably meant for him to use in the first place)._

_This morning, he managed to sneak out and spend some quality time in my office. Yeah, that kind of quality time. Groove told the humans that his brother was taking a nap in his alt mode, haha :D_

_I think we can make it work here. We just have to mete out some time for ourselves. It's more tricky here than it was on quiet little Diego Garcia, but that just means we have to try harder._

_And First Aid makes trying very, very enjoyable._

* * *

I'm in love with my chair.

Forget Jazz's luxury seats. Forget First Aid's massaging seatback. This chair is _fantastic_. Comfy, soft, tall-backed wing chair that looks like it could have fit in a grandma's house and feels like reader heaven. And to sink back into it after a long day, after a hot shower, wearing PJs and woolly socks and with the TV on a good series or reading a good book…

I could just stay right here.

So I settle in for a nice long evening of Game of Thrones. Except, when I turn on the TV today, it's got fireworks on it. Which makes no sense – until I start counting the days in my head. We left Diego Garcia on the twenty-eighth…

Well, crap.

It's New Year's Eve.

… huh. Guess our party's cancelled.

At least I realized before midnight. Would have been all manners of embarrassing to be woken up by the celebrations.

I get up though, go to my little kitchen nook. New Year's Eve should have refreshments. Like chocolate, of the hot variety. With the works.

I've only just poured the boiling water when there's a knock on my door. When I open it, First Aid's standing outside.

And he looks _good_.

It's like Christmas again, only better. He's gone full on black tie. It's enough to make me weak in the knees.

"Hi," I murmur, and for some strange reason I can feel I'm blushing. Must be because I'm clinging to the doorframe to avoid dropping like a stone. "Wow, Aid, you look…"

"Hey, Isobel," he says, smiling slightly. "I came to ask if you wanted to spend New Year's Eve with me. But it looks like you're getting ready for bed."

Cue more blushing. "Would you believe that I actually forgot which day it is?" I reply sheepishly.

That earns me a laugh, and a hand that strokes down my cheek softly. "Can I come in?"

Can he come in. Yes, please, o handsome First Aid, please come in. I step aside to let him pass me.

"You look fantastic," I comment as he passes. "I'm afraid I'm a little underdressed."

He smirks at me over his shoulder. "No slinky dress?"

Oh, now that's a thought. "I can change if you want?"

He turns, looks me over. "Actually, that looks very comfy. Maybe I can join you." The blue sparks envelop him as he speaks, and then he's standing there in flannel PJ bottoms and a thin white t-shirt.

And he still looks awesome.

He looks around the room, notices the coffee mug full of hot water and the TV. "Were you snuggling in your chair?"

I have been preaching the gospel of The Chair. Everyone's heard of the chair by now.

"That was the plan," I confirm. "But you can't fit next to me in that, can you?"

"Nah," he grins, taking me by the hand. "But I can do this."

He sits down in my chair, puts his feet up on the footstool and pulls me down to sit crosswise in his lap. "Now see, that's perfect. We can fit in this." He nuzzles against my throat, then nods at the TV. "You want to watch this?"

I don't even know what 'this' is. And there's just no way I could pay attention to the TV when he's here with me. So I turn it off and curl up in his lap, legs pulled up underneath me and head on his shoulder. "Nah. I want to sit here with you."

Fingers move slowly, lovingly up and down my arm. From the corner of my eye I can see him looking around the room. So I throw my arm out, indicating my grand living space. "First Aid, this is my room. My couch, my TV, my bed back there behind that screen, my bookshelf. Make yourself at home."

"Home is where the heart is, isn't that what you say?" he purrs in my ear, and my heart jumps hard enough that it feels like it'll come shooting out of my chest.

First Aid, diplomatic and caring First Aid, just kisses my forehead and grins. "So what are you reading?"

I reach for the book lying on the floor next to the chair, showing it to him. "The Edge Chronicles. Children's books, but I love them."

He smiles at me, looking down under long eyelashes. "Read to me?"

I melt. "Of course." I straighten slightly, open the book where I left off last. "'Stowing away on the sky ship had seemed a wonderful idea at the time. Now, Twig was not so sure…'"

I read for what seems like forever, pulling First Aid into the little fantasy world that has so captivated me. He listens attentively, laughing at all the right places, encouraging me to make the voices. Then, when my throat is beginning to be sore, he gently plucks the book from my hands and stands, lifting me easily and carrying me over to the window.

"Happy New Year, love." Soft lips press against my ear.

Outside, the world is exploding. Brilliant yellows, sparkling blues, greens and reds bright enough to make me squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. "Wheeljack brought his fireworks?"

"They were just approved for firing today," First Aid murmurs into my hair.

"Happy New Year, First Aid," I whisper, leaning back against his chest, my hands on the arms that are encircling my waist. It hits me suddenly that we're standing in the same way as we did on the Halloween party, complete down to me running my fingers across his knuckles. So I lean into his neck, just like I did back then. "I love you."

We stand like that, looking outside until all of Wheeljack's unpatented bangs have blown themselves out and the air smells faintly of fireworks even in here. Then First Aid picks me back up and carries me over to the bed.

He puts me down carefully and lies down next to me. "Can I stay here with you tonight?"

"Funny you should ask," I smile sleepily. "I've been thinking that my bed's too big when there's just me in it." I pull the covers over me and snuggle up against my Protectobot's side.

"Well, we can't have that," First Aid replies softly, pulling me close. "I have to share my time between you and my brothers, but I'll be here as much as I can."

"Good," I sigh contentedly. "Or I might just have to start sleeping in your cab, no matter what your brothers say."

He chuckles at that. "You'd be welcome, love. But I'd rather have you to myself than constantly sharing you with them. Much as I love them, you're mine." The possessive tone sends a thrill down my back, and my body tries to respond, but for the first time since we got here I'm dead tired.

First Aid's mouth is against my forehead. "Now go to sleep."

"Yes sir," I yawn. "I can do that." Especially with those arms holding me, that hand stroking caringly across my back.

Yeah. I can sleep now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Isobel's reading is Stormchaser, part of the Edge Chronicles by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell. Read it. It's fantastic.  
> Also, Perceptor's science comment is complete and utter made-up drivel. I'm a linguist, not a physicist.


	22. Rebel

"Parker Jamieson is the most stuck-up, straight-laced, opinionated, inflexible, stick-up-her-ass miserable excuse for a human being, who can't compromise worth a damn and wouldn't know middle ground if it jumped up and bit her on the ass!"

Cliffjumper sniggers.

I'm seething, pacing back and forth in the main Autobot hangar. I'm so furious I bet they can feel it in Nevada.

"That grade-A, utterly clueless, paragraph-brained, uncreative, arrogant, caveman mentality, moronic bitch! Do you know what she did?"

"No, we don't," Smokescreen says, passing Cliffjumper a set of really big dice – the kind I'd say was novelty dice, but they're a decent size for Cybertronians. "You've been ranting about her since you stalked in here looking as though you'd had a run-in with idiocy incarnate, but you haven't actually gotten to the point yet."

I climb up on the crate next to them and sit down on it with a huff. "She's questioning my clearance! And she's messing with my status!"

Three pairs of inquiring optics focus on me. I'm not sure if they're questioning my statements or my sanity at this point. Heck, even I'm wondering if my sanity should be in question at this point.

"You're going to have to clarify that," Sideswipe says, eyeing me while tossing the dice. "Because it makes no sense."

"You know I'm not a soldier," I explain. I'm trying for patiently, but it seems as though I've left all my patience behind in Jamieson's shared office today. "I'm a contracted civilian. But the lines are blurry, so usually a contracted civilian is treated as part of the base in the same manner as, for instance, the base medics or the quartermaster corps. But she's redrawing the lines! So now I'm not allowed to practice on the shooting range, I'm not to keep learning hand-to-hand from the soldiers, I have to go to a specific civilian rec room and mess hall. I'm being segregated!" A brief distant look as they all look up the term and the Earth connotations. "Also, she's completely nixed any direct working with the Autobots!"

That has their attention. Sideswipe looks disbelievingly at me – he knows the positive effects my talks with Sunstreaker has had on the yellow twin. "Can she do that?"

"Yes!" I throw up my hands, making air quotes with my fingers. "Because I'm 'hired to the US Air Force, and offering my skills to their allies without specific agreements is at best an act of insubordination and at worst outright treason'!"

"Well then, get a specific agreement," Smokescreen says reasonably.

"Prime tried!" I snap back. I'm taking my annoyance and frustration out on these guys now, I know that, but they can take it. "He approached Caddock to make a deal with him that would let me use up to half my time on the Autobots. But Caddock has put Jamieson in charge of my contract, so he's delegated the whole mess to her! Her decision stands unless Prime appeals to the higher ranks, all the way up to the general of the Air Force! And this case will never get that high because it's unimportant, so it'll be tossed back and forth and back and forth until I'm old enough to retire."

"She's denied Prime?" Cliffjumper sounds incredulous and insulted. Then again, he often sounds insulted.

"She did," I confirm. "And just to rub it in, my schedule isn't even full! It's not like three or four Autobot appointments a week would make a difference!"

"And your clearance?" Smokescreen says, still levelly, still reasonably, and I want to claw his optics out. "How is she questioning that?"

"I have a very high clearance, since I needed to know about you guys," I reply, still unreasonably mad at him and not quite managing to keep it out of my voice. If he hears it, he pretends not to notice. "But now, since I already know, and I'm not supposed to deal with you directly anymore, she's petitioned to have my clearance revoked, and get me down to normal status for contracted medical personnel!"

"So she's a nuisance," Smokescreen says. "I don't see why you let it rile you this badly. It doesn't really make a difference."

I stare at him. " _Not_ make a _difference_? How can it not make a difference? It's impacting everything I do here!"

"Hear me out," he says, holding up a blue hand placatingly. "These are human regulations, right? Human rules set in place to keep the human soldiers in check, to make it easier to run a human military organization. So these rules control the way your – and everyone else's – working day is laid out."

I nod curtly, but Sideswipe's suddenly grinning.

"I see where you're going, Smokey."

"Exactly," Smokescreen smirks at Sideswipe. "But you want to work with the Autobots. You want to learn how to shoot, to fight. And you can. You just have to do it on _your own free time_."

I gape. That answer's so blindingly obvious that I'm ashamed I didn't see it.

So I facepalm. Hard. "Well, that would solve it." I look up, still slightly hiding behind my fingers. "Do you think it could be done?"

They exchange looks. "I don't see why not," Cliffjumper says slowly.

"Bluestreak can probably teach you to handle a rifle," Sideswipe agrees. "Or, pit, even I can do that. Main problem is that we don't have any human guns for you to use."

"Or a gun range, if you're banned from the human one," Smokescreen puts in. "But we can find a solution for that. Hand-to-hand is easy. Biggest difficulty there is that we're not used to fighting in holoform."

"Chromia? Or Arcee?" Sideswipe suggests, looking at the doorwinged mech. "Their root mode's not that dissimilar from hers. Center of gravity's close to the same."

"Chromia, if she'll help," Cliffjumper says. "She's an instructor."

"And as for the segregation issue… Why don't you just grab your food and eat with us, like at Diego Garcia?" Sideswipe asks. He looks at me like that too should be obvious.

"Because your mess hall is on the opposite side of the base from my new mess hall," I point out. "My dinner would get cold before I got there."

"So we give you a ride," Cliffjumper says, and for him to suggest that is surprising, to say the least. Cliffjumper does not play transport to squishies. "We can set up a system so that there's always someone who can take you. And you're always hanging out with one Autobot or the other anyway, so the rec room's no big deal, right?"

I look from one to the other. "You'd do that?"

Sideswipe smirks. It looks good on him in this form, too. "Isobel, if you haven't noticed, you're kind of an honorary Autobot already. If course we'll work it out."

"Work what out?"

Smokescreen turns towards Ironhide. "Apparently, sir, Isobel is no longer considered part of the US Air Force. They won't teach her how to fight anymore, with weapons or hand-to-hand, and she's to eat by herself in the civilian cantina. So we figured we should teach her, and take her to eat with us so she's not alone."

"Huh," the big black mech grunts. "I thought you were plottin' something a lot more troublesome than that." He looks at me. "They cut you off, huh?"

"Technical Sergeant Parker Jamieson did," I answer acidly. "My status is civilian, and I should obey by that."

"Well, that's utter slag," Ironhide replies. "'Course we'll work something out. I'll talk to Prowl, he can set up a schedule. As for the fightin'…" He frowns. "Honestly, with you in this close proximity t'us, not knowin' how to fight is just stupid."

"We thought Chromia might be able to teach her some hand to hand," Smokescreen says, a hint of a question in his tone.

Ironhide nods. "Yeah, we can try. 'Mia hasn't done any instruction in a while, she'll be happy to. And you should be practicin' yer shootin' skills, too. You can't kill a 'Con with your bare hands." He eyes me speculatively. "Tell you what. I'll train you myself. Make sure you have the skills you need. I'll even talk ta Wheeljack, see if we can't outfit you with somethin' you can use."

I'm not too sure I like the idea of Wheeljack building me a weapon. What if it blows up?

"We can source her a human gun, Ironhide," Sideswipe says quickly – maybe he had the same thought as me. His eyes blank out for a moment. "It's not that hard to get. She just need a concealed weapons permit."

"Well, then, let's get it arranged," Ironhide grins, and he looks scary. Honestly, if that's an eager smile, I'd hate to see him looking bloodthirstily furious. "I'll talk to Prowl and Prime. Later, Isobel." He waves at me as he walks off, ground-eating strides carrying him away before I get the chance to say anything.

When I turn back to the table, there's a small pile of newspaper-sized playing cards in front of me. Cliffjumper's grinning impishly. "Wanna play?"

I'm not sure I can hold even one of these cards. But what the heck. "Sure," I reply, climbing up on the table. "You're on."

* * *

_Ironhide's as good as his word. I have my first fighting lesson with Chromia tomorrow afternoon. And Prowl helped me with my application for a weapon's permit today, marking it urgent to get it approved faster._

_Hah. Take that, Parker Jamieson! You can't touch this!_

_Honestly, she's been on my case all week! "No, doctor Harrington, I'm afraid you can't observe the drills." "Doctor Harrington, you're a civilian, and you don't have access to that side of the base." "I'm afraid that you can't be allowed to view the military files, doctor Harrington, as you don't have the clearance." "No, doctor Harrington, the Autobot-military practice timetables are not available to you."_

_Bitch._

_But Smokescreen's right, she doesn't control my free time. (And had I known that he would solve this I would have talked to him a week ago.) So I'm going to be the perfect base psychologist as reinvented by technical sergeant Parker Jamieson in my work hours, and then be Autobot Isobel when I'm off work._

_It's going to be totally brilliant._

_Aside from God's gift to the air force, I'm good. Álvarez and Decker have turned out to be good fun, and I've hung out with them and some of the other soldiers as well as the Autobots. I haven't had an evening to myself yet, and it's awesome! It's almost enough that I'm wondering whether the 'Bots are still trying to make amends for forgetting about me after that mission, or for other recent upsetting situations that I'd rather not dwell on. Heck, even Blades came by at one point._

_Yep. Blades. Came by my room after First Aid had told him that my brother was a soldier, wanted to know what he'd done. Also, he wanted someone neutral to talk to about his love life._

_He didn't come out and say that, of course. I've got a feeling Blades rarely comes out and says anything straight. But it came through pretty clear in what he didn't say._

_Apparently, it's not always easy being part of a gestalt and being with someone who's part of another gestalt. Thoughts and memories travel very easily between minds once they're melded. And somehow, Air Raid had learned something Slingshot really didn't mean to share, and Blades found himself the butt of a joke that really wasn't funny… It earned Air Raid two days of repair and a few days in the brig, and Slingshot and Blades a stint each in medbay as well as punishment detail for jumping the loudmouthed Aerialbot and taking their anger out on his plating._

_It's enough to make me hope First Aid keeps a tight lid on his thoughts when he's merged into Defensor. Then again, I suppose it's easier to focus when your lover isn't right in front of you. That's what caused Slingshot to lose focus, according to Blades._

_Anyway, he didn't really ask for advice or anything. He just needed to vent to someone who wasn't part of the group. So I let him._

_I'm not offended that he doesn't consider me part of the group, because I'm not. In Blades's mind, the group is the gestalts and a few of the other Autobots, like Skyfire and Wheeljack. The fighters and their intimate support. I'm not part of that. That doesn't mean I'm not growing on him. If he didn't think I was okay, he wouldn't have come to see me and talk to me that freely. He basically came because he needed a friendly ear, which gives me all manners of hope for the future._

_And him coming to me like that gives me an idea, too. One which I'm going to discuss with Ratchet the next time I see him._

* * *

I thought Ironhide was scary. Turns out, his mate can be just as intimidating as he is.

After a warm-up that I'm half-convinced would kill someone less fit, she has me standing on top of a large mattress of sorts inside the main Autobot hangar. I'm panting hard, my heartrate still hasn't settled, First Aid's looking decidedly nervous on my behalf and Chromia's grinning.

Grinning.

"You're not half bad," she praises, while I'm standing there in clothes that are so sweat-drenched I could probably wring them. "We don't have to start you up with a training schedule, you're fit enough to begin learning right away. Although we should probably also work some on your strength. Now." She stops in front of me, standing with her hands on her hips, eyeing me. "Pay attention."

And then she attacks me. I'm on the ground before I have time to take two breaths. Nothing really hurts, though.

Huh.

Chromia leans down, offers her hand to pull me to my feet. "Did you get that?"

"Get that?" I'm still short of breath, and I'm gaping at her on top of it. "I barely even saw you move!"

"She doesn't have the perception you're used to, Chromia," First Aid breaks in. "You might want to slow down to allow for that."

"You might want to wait outside, First Aid, while I'm teaching," Chromia retorts, not unkindly. "I don't need hovering bondmates interfering with my training regime."

"I'm not leaving my mate to be pummeled without medical aid at the ready," he replies sternly, and I'm so distracted by the phrases they're using that I completely forget to watch Chromia.

So suddenly I'm on the ground again, groaning.

"Up," she says. "And spectators will shut up, on pain of Ironhide. Now, Isobel, look." She pulls me up again, starts positioning me like a doll. "You're almost always going to be up against bigger and heavier foes, so you need to be smarter and faster. Did you notice how I swept you down right now? I did the exact same thing twice."

I shake my head helplessly. "As I said, I didn't even see you move."

"Maybe not," she says, and now she's smiling kindly, "but you felt it, Isobel. Close your eyes and think. What did I do?"

I do as she says, trying to think back. "Huh. I think… Did you go for my knees or something?" I ask, opening my eyes.

"Correct," she grins, stepping closer and demonstrating slowly, leaving me still on my feet. "I pushed you while hooking my leg behind your knees, knocking you down that way. It's a useful trick, but it mostly serves to show you that you need to both focus and keep control over your center of gravity at the same time. Now, this next one is more useful. Pay attention."

And then I'm on the ground again.

"See what I did there?"

I really didn't. But that's not making a lick of difference, apparently. So I grin, get up, and try again.

* * *

Chromia's a real slave driver, but we're making progress. At least, I hope we are…

And we're getting more of an audience, too, with every off-shift Autobot staring at us, plus Álvarez and Decker. I get applause for every spectacular tumble.

It would be fun, if I wasn't getting so damned exhausted.

After the umpteenth time I'm knocked to the ground, she shifts her tactics. "Silverbolt! Holoform!"

The tall planeformer smiles – nervously, I think – and transforms, leaving the silvery plane standing in the back of the hangar. His holoform is very tall, probably a head and a half taller than me, narrow-waisted, broadshouldered but slender, incredibly gorgeous in that gentle, soft-spoken, almost shy manner. He smiles at me, walking onto the strange mattress. "Hi, Isobel."

"Hey, Silverbolt."

"Now, I chose 'Bolt because he's so much bigger than you, and because he's not the most skilled hand-to-hand fighter," Chromia says, positioning him as she does me.

"I'm usually on aerial support," he grins, making me giggle.

"Exactly, so he's easier for you to deal with than the ground fighters would be. And, bonus, he's nice, so he's going to go easy on you."

"So he's only going to knock me gently to the ground?" I grin, looking way up at the tall Aerialbot leader.

"He's not going to attack you," Chromia smirks. "You're going to attack him."

I just raise my eyebrows at her. "I'm going to attack him. Me. Attack Silverbolt."

"Yeah." She grins wickedly. "Go."

"Um… okay."

How in the name of Prime am I supposed to pull that off? I can barely reach his chest.

But then again, that is kind of the point, isn't it?

So I grin at Silverbolt again, then sidestep. Sidestep again. He turns with me, of course, but he's moving carefully, trying to keep me front and center to him, arms held half at the ready.

So I dart in and attack him, trying to get my leg to hook his knees and pushing him over.

It doesn't work. He's just too solid for me to flip over, and I can't get any leverage against his chest.

There's chuckling from the watching Autobots.

I shake the embarrassment off, smile and start circling again. And then I dash around behind him and throw my entire body weight at the back of his knees.

Which makes no difference to him whatsoever. He just stands there, blinking at me.

And that move actually hurt, too. Silverbolt's legs are hard, and I managed to hit the ground wrong or something because my shoulder's burning as if I've wrenched something.

"Better, because you were faster," Chromia allows. "On your feet, try again."

"I need a minute," I reply, grinding my teeth against the pain in my shoulder.

"You think the enemy's going to give you a minute, just because you're a little sore? You think they care that you busted something minor and need a break? Come on, Isobel, up you get."

I frown at her – much effect as that has – and climb to my feet, trying to rotate my shoulder to get it to ease up.

"Good," Chromia nods. "Again."

But now Silverbolt's looking at me with clear discomfort, and I catch a glimpse of Bluestreak and Bumblebee watching and looking unhappy with the whole thing.

"Chromia, are you sure…" Silverbolt begins, then trails off under her scrutiny.

Oh yeah, this one's every bit as hard as Ironhide.

"Of course I'm sure," she says firmly. "Isobel can do it. She'll get it soon enough."

So I start circling again, faster this time. Fast enough to make me dizzy. I go for his knees again, but somehow I time it wrong and the whole thing just ends with me crashing to the ground in a heap, dizzy as hell and with new hurts to add to the one I already had.

"Try again, Isobel!" Chromia's voice rings out.

But when I try to sit up, the world spins around me and I can't seem to tell her apart from the Aerialbot commander. Which is saying something, because she's probably a foot shorter than him. I try squeezing my eyes shut, but it doesn't really help – my head keeps spinning.

And then large fingers pick me up, cradling me.

"Chromia, you're forgetting who you're working with here," Ratchet says, and he sounds annoyed.

"How so, Ratchet?" Chromia asks. "She's making progress, I'm sure she'll get it soon."

"She's not making progress enough. How long have you been at it now?"

I open my eyes again, and the world stays blessedly still this time. So I chance a look at her from over Ratchet's brightly-colored fingers. She looks surprised. "Well, slag. It's been almost three hours since warm-up…" Her look shifts to me. "I'm sorry, Isobel, that's a lot longer than I meant to work you."

"Three hours without break, after a warm-up that most of the soldiers would consider a full workout, no break, no water, just running her through the same thing over and over until she hurts herself? She's not Cybertronian, 'Mia."

Chromia, to her credit, looks suitably ashamed as Ratchet stands up with me. "I'm taking her to medbay."

I look around for First Aid as he carries me out of the hangar. None of the Protectobots are there anymore. Some of the other Autobots are giving me sympathetic looks as we leave.

Ratchet notices me looking, of course. Not much gets past him. "Aid had to go on duty," he explains. "He commed me before he left, asked me to monitor your training session. I got delayed in the medbay, though, and didn't manage to escape until now. I seriously wasn't expecting it to still be going on when I got here. How do you feel?"

"Shaky," I confess, then rattle of my symptoms since I know he wants me to. "Dizzy, headache, shoulder hurts, knee hurts, but probably nothing serious. And I could probably sleep for a week."

"Hmm," he replies. "You're just bruised, but your body needs water and relaxation. And I don't want you to use that shoulder for a day or so. Also, we're going to find you another teacher."

"I thought Chromia was supposed to be the best match for me," I ask, curling up in his fingers and closing my eyes again. I'm less dizzy that way.

"She might have the best grasp of how you should be fighting, but she's obviously not the best teacher for you," Ratchet says, and I hear the frown in his voice. "Did you actually learn something useful today?"

I think about that for a moment. "I learned that I need to focus and know where my center of gravity is."

He snorts. "That is useful. Did it take you three hours to learn that?"

I smile slightly. "No, that was the first ten minutes after warm-up."

"So the last two and a half hours did nothing but wear you out," he points out. "And if Chromia didn't see that until I pointed it out, she's not a good match for you. Plus, asking you to take on Silverbolt? That makes no sense at all."

"I thought she did it because the Aerials are less proficient in hand-to-hand," I say, confused now.

"Oh, that they are," he agrees. "But they've got the best balance of all of us, since they're fliers, and superb body control as well. There was no way you were ever going to get the jump on him, no matter how fast you were or where you hit him." He pushes the med hangar door open, carries me inside. "She should have been showing you how to move, not expecting you to get it on your own."

I can't not agree with that.

"Here," Ratchet says, setting me down on a giant berth. "Sit here, relax, drink this. I want to see a normal resting pulse and calm respiration, no dizziness and no headache." He drops a bottle of water on the berth next to me. "There's more where that comes from."

I'm not hard to ask. I have a faint suspicion that all my muscle mass has turned into porridge. My hand's shaking just lifting the water bottle. But I'm absolutely parched, so pretty soon there's no water left.

Ratchet is tinkering with something a few berths over. He's engrossed in what he's doing, though I have no doubt he's monitoring my condition even now. Still, I doubt he's paying attention to what I'm paying attention to.

So I'm paying attention to him.

What drew Optimus Prime to the medic, I wonder?

He's got sure hands. There's no hesitation anywhere – his movements are exact, precise. I'm not the best judge of what passes for attractive among the Autobots, but Ratchet has a confidence that's attractive regardless of species. He's confident, dependable, safe.

Yeah, I can see it. He's rock solid.

"Are you done with your scrutiny?" he asks, without taking his focus from the parts he's working on. "Because if you are, there's another water bottle behind you."

Apparently, he's also psychic. That must be practical.

I reach for the other bottle. Time to discuss my idea. "Hey, Ratchet? Do you still think there are Autobots who could benefit from talking to me?"

"Yes, I do," he replies tersely. "And I'm beyond frustrated at the Air Force here for not letting you. It's absolutely ridiculous."

"I agree," I say, taking another swig of water. "So why don't we do with the psych appointments as we do with my training? After all," I grin, "my free time is my own."

He looks up then, pausing his work for a moment. Then he smirks. "Isobel, that is brilliant. How many afternoons?"

I shrug. "All of them?"

"All of them?" He walks over to me, lifts a hand to scan me. "I thought we were trying to make you safe, not run you into the ground."

I giggle. "One appointment a day won't run me ragged, I promise, and I'll still have time to learn."

"All right, then." He holds up a hand, counting off on his fingers. "One appointment a day, five days a week. Optimus. Sunstreaker. Bluestreak." He hesitates, thinking it over. "One of the appointments should be open for drop-ins. Not everyone needs steady therapy." He snorts suddenly. "Scratch that. We all need steady therapy. But we don't all need it equally as badly. So one for drop-in, and the last one…There are three others I can think of who need this more than the rest, maybe you can get them on rotating schedules or something."

"Okay," I agree. "Sounds doable. Which three?"

"Silverbolt. Skyfire." His sharp optics bore into my eyes. "And Mirage. If you can handle it."

Damn. Damn and blast. The very last Autobot I want to see.

Still, this is my _job_. I won't let him scare me away from that.

"I can handle it," I nod determinedly. "But… him last. Give me another couple of weeks before I have to be professional."

Ratchet grins at that. "You got it, Isobel. And, for the record…" One giant metal finger touches my head gently. "I did hear what happened. And he completely deserves to be treated like cosmic rust for a while."

I smile a bit at that. Though – cosmic rust? What?

And wait, what? He heard? "Is it common knowledge now?" I grumble a bit, I know, but I think he'll forgive me.

"Hardly. Bumblebee told me in confidence – he wanted to know what to do. He was furious on your behalf." Ratchet cants his head. "I told him to just be there for you when you were in London. I haven't heard anything about it since, so I'm assuming he got it out of his system."

"We talked," I remember. "Thanks. It'll be okay."

"Good. If not, let me know, and we'll work something out." He looks up, smirks. "Oh. Your knight in shining armor approaches." He nods at whoever's walking up behind me, then goes back to the medberth to fix whatever he's fixing.

And I'm suddenly scooped up and cradled close to a familiar red chest.

"Isobel," First Aid breathes. "Love, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I breathe, and if I'm snuggling in as close to that plating as I can, well, who can blame me, right?

Ratchet certainly doesn't. He's just chuckling at us.

"Oh, come on, you two. Get out of here. Aid, take her home, stay with her tonight, make sure she eats and drinks, maybe a hot shower and do not let her get cold."

"Yes sir," First Aid replies, lifting me up higher and nuzzling at me. "Come on, Isobel."

* * *

_I suppose I shouldn't have expected everything to just fix itself overnight, simply because we'd found solutions to let me work with the Autobots. I also shouldn't have been surprised to learn just how well-informed Parker Jamieson is. I think she somehow knows that I'm going to be spending my free time in a way not condoned by the US Air Force. She's sabotaging me already._

_Today, she kicked me out of my own office._

_Oh, it was after hours, but you'd think the explanation that I was doing paperwork would have sufficed. I certainly wasn't planning to tell her that I was waiting for Trailbreaker to swing by and be my dinner ride for the evening._

_No such thing, though. She merely informed me, with that small, professional smile, that my schedule is empty enough that I can do my paperwork within office hours and that the office door would be locked at precisely four PM._

_Just for that, I'm going to start leaving the office early. And if they ask, I'm going to say that I'm afraid that they're going to lock it up with me still inside._

_Anyway, Trailbreaker picked me up at my room instead, which works just as well. And I can certainly find another space to do my afternoon sessions in._

_It's annoying, though. I think she's going out of her way to make things needlessly difficult for me._

_Stupid Parker Jamieson._

_Anyway. Can't keep thinking about her, or I'll get an ulcer or something._

_Prowl told me they're trading Laserbeak tomorrow. Megatron agreed to leave the world alone for three weeks in exchange for getting her back – less than they thought, but more than they'd hoped for, Prowl said. Not that the slagmaker (Sideswipe told me about that one, it's an awesome term) will abide by those terms anyway._

_I asked to come along on the handout, but they said no. Prime doesn't want the 'Cons to know about me, he's afraid they'll kidnap me or something. Go after me to lure the Autobots in._

_He's probably not far wrong._

_So I went to say goodbye tonight, instead. It was an emotional moment. For all that she's supposedly an enemy, I like Laserbeak. She's sweet. Sending her back to that megalomaniac pushes every single button I have._

_Eject isn't too happy that she's leaving, either._

_Laserbeak's thrilled, though. She's going back to her family. I know she misses them terribly._

_I hope they'll be safe._

_Heck, I hope I'll be safe. Because tomorrow's Saturday, and Wheeljack's requested that I come find him. Apparently, he's made me something._

_I better get to bed. I better sleep well tonight – just in case I have to spend tomorrow in the hospital. With Wheeljack, you never really know._

* * *

"… just can't stand the paintjob. Imagine looking at that for the rest of my existence? Pit no." Sunstreaker snorts as I walk into the hangar. The golden twin is sitting at one of the tables with a group of humans and mechs, including his brother and the one I came here to find. "At least for a one-time thing I can offline my optics. Astrotrain is tolerable in comparison. So I'll chase him, 'face Blitzwing and erase Blast Off, because there's no way I could coexist in close habitation with that crazy gestalt."

I'm fairly sure my eyebrows are touching my hairline somehow. What kind of weird conversation did I just wander into?

Blaster is chuckling. "I actually second that."

"Thirded," Blades smirks.

"I don't know," Bumblebee muses. "Both Astrotrain and Blitzwing are nasty slaggers. Blast Off may have crazy brothers, but he's not that bad himself. Quiet, private. I'm going to chase Blast Off, 'face Astrotrain and erase Blitzwing."

I just stare.

Thankfully, Alice Decker spots me, getting up and walking towards me with a nervous smile. "It's my fault," she stage-whispers conspiratorially. "I was telling them about the kiss-marry-kill game we played at my cousin's bachelorette party, and they just took it and ran with it."

"We call it chase, 'face, erase," Sideswipe explains, grinning at my confusion. "Fits better. Okay, my turn." He wiggles his eyebrows at the others. "Command trine."

Wheeljack snorts. "Oh, come on, Sides, that's not even hard. Chase Thundercracker, 'face Skywarp and erase Starscream. That's a no-brainer."

"Why is it a no-brainer?" I ask, curious and slightly horrified as I walk closer.

KMK with Decepticon choices? Really? I would have thought that was a bit… childish. At least for alien robotic mechanisms.

Though I suppose it at least means that they see the 'Cons as mechs, not monsters. I'll take that. Even though I'm trying very hard to not imagine the pairings and scenarios they're talking about.

Bad brain. Do _not_ go there.

"It's a no-brainer because there really is only one sensible choice," Blaster replies, leaning down and offering me a hand up so I can sit on his knee. "Starscream has gone a little bit too far to the left of sanity, so we erase him."

"Besides, imagine living with that voice," Sideswipe snorts.

"Thundercracker is also good-looking, and he's dependable," Blaster continues, "so we chase him. Skywarp, though hot, is kind of like Sideswipe with wings, except worse. So he's good for a night, but not for forever. No offense, Sideswipe."

"None taken at all," Sideswipe grins, and the twinkle in his optics should send us running for the hills. "But I beg to differ. I'd chase Skywarp, because we could have all manners of fun."

"Now that's a match made in the pit," Ratchet snorts. I didn't actually notice him back there at first. "Primus forbid we would ever have to live through that."

"I've got one for ya," Blades grins wickedly. "Soundwave. Shockwave. Old slagmaker himself."

"All bad choices," Wheeljack shakes his head. "Can't we just erase all of them?"

"Not according to the rules," Sideswipe replies. "And since we're rule-abiding Autobots – for the most part – we'll take it." He looks thoughtful for just a moment before the normal Sideswipe is back. "Okay. I'd erase Shockwave, because that kind of evil doesn't deserve to exist. I'd 'face… Megatron and chase Soundwave. Or, I don't know. It's a toss-up, really."

"The evil genius, the mad warlord or the emotionless telepath," Ratchet muses. "It's hard."

"Not that hard," Sunstreaker says. "I'd erase Soundwave, because I do not want him in my head. I'd chase Shockwave, because then I could lock him up in a dungeon for the rest of his existence. And I'd 'face Megatron. He's intense, it could have been a fun ride."

"I'd erase Megatron," Bumblebee murmurs. "Chase Soundwave. 'Face Shockwave – if I had to."

"I'd 'face Soundwave," Ratchet says. "Erase Megatron. Chase Shockwave, see if we couldn't get anything useful out of him to make up for all the nastiness." He smiles, then, and it's the cruelest look I've ever seen. "I know ways to make him behave."

"I'd chase Soundwave," Blaster says quietly. "Don't really care about any of the others. Erase Megatron, 'face Shockwave… Then offline him in his recharge."

There's something in Blaster's voice. Belatedly, I remember that he and Soundwave are the same type. And I remember how Laserbeak feels about her master.

Maybe Blaster knows that, too. Maybe the two are more alike than I had suspected at first.

"What about you, Isobel?" Blades grins.

"Me?" I lean back against Blaster's plating. "Huh. I guess… I guess I'd chase Soundwave. He seems to treat Laserbeak well enough, so he can't be all bad. Besides, it could be a long-distance relationship."

Bumblebee chuckles at that.

"I don't know anything about Shockwave," I continue. "I don't think he's in my files. But I've heard more than I care for about Megatron, and I would not risk spending a night with him. So I'd erase Megatron."

"Not risk it?" Blades asks. "Why is he a bigger risk than Shockwave?"

"Shockwave, you say, is a scientist," I reply. "I doubt he's ever done it in holoform, so I bet I could appeal to his scientific curiosity and make it through a night with him that way. But Megatron's a brute. A brute who likes beating on his victims. And most of them have heavy plating. I don't. I probably wouldn't survive a night, let alone a lifetime."

The Autobots look – flabbergasted, actually. I don't think they'd thought of it like that. Ratchet is looking at me, a considering glint in his optics. Sideswipe's lost his smirk somewhere – he's leaning up against Sunstreaker, as close as he can get without touching. And Bumblebee's looking down at his own hands.

I think I killed the mood.

Wheeljack stands up. "Fun as it's been, mechs, I've got to take the little lady away. I've got something for her. And I've got something for you lot, too – a parting gift, if you will." His indicators flash a dark purple. "A trio of nastiness. Mixmaster. Shrapnel. And Vortex."

"What? No!" Sunstreaker fumes. "That's disgusting!"

"I don't know, rotaries are hot," his brother grins. "And our one's taken, so…"

Sunstreaker's look of absolute revulsion is worth a study, honestly.

Blades, though, is smirking, his rotor blades vibrating slightly as he sets them off to a slow spin. Sideswipe has a face on him that looks like he wants to touch – I'm fairly sure Slingshot would be growling, were he here.

Wheeljack bends down to pick me up from Blaster's knee. He reaches with both hands, as if I was a baby, so I can't resist. I reach my hands up like a little child. "Want up!"

And Bumblebee cracks up, tilting forward onto his knees and giggling.

"Come on then, sparklet," Wheeljack laughs, scooping me up. "Let's go get your stuff."

As he walks away with me, I'm glad to hear that the others are getting back into the game, laughing and deriding each other. Their comments are interesting – after this, I'm going to go back to my files and see if I can figure out who Vortex, Shrapnel and Mixmaster are. I'd bet it's worth the read, if only to figure out what could put that look on the golden twin's faceplates - aside from a scratch in his own finish, that is.

"Thanks for the help," I say to Wheeljack as we leave the hangar. "I almost ruined their fun."

He chuckles. "Nah, you didn't. Blades named the wrong names for the game. You weren't the only one going serious with it - both Blaster and Bumblebee were more than a little uncomfortable. Besides, you saved it with that 'want up' comment."

I smile at that, but inside I'm wondering about the two 'bots who seemed strangely upset at the turn the game was taking. "Do they have personal reasons, you think? Or is it something more general?"

He hesitates. "Personal, I'd say. You'd have to ask them if you want to know, but I won't guarantee that they'll tell you."

I nod at that. It's good to know that something's up, but I'm not going to ask them. Not unless they come to me and want to talk about it at some point.

"Here we are," Wheeljack announces cheerfully. "Fair warning: don't touch anything I don't give you, don't go anywhere I don't put you, don't look at anything that glows, spins or makes funny noises."

I twist in his hand, stare up at him. "Wheeljack, should I even be in there? It sounds like the mortality rate is significantly higher in there than out here."

"You'll be fine as long as you're with me," he grins.

"Yeah, because when he's with you he's not elsewhere making things blow up," Ratchet's sardonic voice says from behind us. "Most likely blowing up himself, too, making tons of extra work for me."

"Hey, Ratch!" Wheeljack grins at the medic. "Come to see the marvels, huh?" He carries me inside the large building as he speaks. The walls are thicker than his body and there are three sets of blast doors, one behind the other.

If Wheeljack hadn't been carrying me in here, there's no way I would be going inside. The entire building pretty much screams 'danger'.

But he is carrying me, talking about all the fun stuff he does that I don't get to look at, and I'm wondering if all the explosions have messed with his circuitry or something because no one should be this chipper all the time. If he'd been human I'd be thinking some sort of permanent manic episode, at least based on what I've seen of him so far.

Then again, maybe getting himself blown up so often has forced him to have a positive outlook. I can't imagine that it's easy to continue to function after such violent failures.

Maybe Wheeljack should be on my list, too. At least for a drop-in.

Wheeljack puts me down on a table. It's got gadgets on it. "So what do you think?" he asks hopefully.

I tilt my head, look up at him. "I don't know, am I allowed to look at these?"

Ratchet snorts at that, and Wheeljack looks a bit – disappointed, I think, at least as far as I can tell with that mask on. "Well, yeah, they're for you!"

I turn back to the gadgets. There's something that looks like a gun, except it's green. Neon-green, almost. Something that looks like a bullet-proof vest, except it seems to be knitted or something. And something that looks like, and probably is, a cell phone. "They look interesting, Wheeljack, but what are they?"

"Protection!" Wheeljack replies excitedly, before dropping down into his alt mode with his holoform appearing in front of me. He looks no less exuberant in this form; untidy eyebrows raised over eager brown eyes, chocolate-colored hair standing in all directions as if he's run his hand through it one too many times. "Look!"

He picks up the vest thing, loosens the strap on it. "The humans have that thing called Kevlar, right, but that's not going to last long against a Decepticon. This is fabricated from woven metal fibres, the same type that we have in our armor. Here, try it!"

I hold out my arms, let him strap me into the thing. It's softer than I had anticipated, almost mesh-like, and kind of cool – but way, _way_ too tight.

"Can't breathe in this thing, 'Jack," I gasp as he tightens the straps.

"Really? That's strange," he says, sounding confused. "It's made to your measurements. I scanned your shape a few days back."

"Well, you got something wrong," I grunt, holding in every part of my torso. "It doesn't fit."

"And now you know why his inventions have a more explosive failure rate than most," Ratchet comments. "Thankfully, metal mesh isn't explosive."

"Still, I don't understand," Wheeljack mutters as he lets me out of the metal prison again. "Oh no, wait, I've got it. I failed to account for the change in underwear and the fact that your breasts seem to have enlarged due to impending ovulation. Don't worry, I'll change the design to make it more flexible."

Cue the blush. I'm doing my best to avoid looking at the way Ratchet's shaking with silent laughter.

"Next one," I manage after a few seconds of mortification.

"Ah, yes," Wheeljack grins, handing me the green gun. "This shoots acid pellets. I've modelled them after the ammunition Prowl has for his rifle, except smaller, of course. Now, since they are smaller, they won't do much damage to our plating. It feels like a mild tickling sensation. You're going to have to hit the 'Cons in the seams or other sensitive areas to damage anything."

"What if I hit a human?" I wonder, looking at the little gun curiously and wondering what on earth possessed him to paint it green.

"Huh, well. I hadn't actually considered that. I suppose it would hurt. A lot. Might even kill." He grins abashedly. "Don't shoot humans."

"Roger that," I reply, amused. So he hadn't considered that angle, huh? Better make sure no one can take this thing away from me, if it's that dangerous.

"And that?" I ask, pointing. "It looks like a cell phone."

"It's a new comm phone with two-way connection," Wheeljack grins proudly. "Here." He picks it up and hands it to me before disappearing. Within seconds, the tall cheerful robot's standing there again. "Here, I'll show you."

The phone in my hand is nondescript enough – a small, silver flip phone, wouldn't look amiss in any electronics store. Except for the tiny Autobot brand on the back that has me giggling.

And then the phone rings. When I look at the display, it says ''Jack'.

So I pick up, of course. And Wheeljack's voice comes from the speaker. "Cool, huh?" His vocal indicators don't flash.

I grin widely. I'm talking over comms with an Autobot. "Way, way cool, Wheeljack."

"I connected that to our comm system, but I had to store the frequencies manually," Wheeljack says, before launching into a lengthy explanation about wavelengths and range blockers and operating signals and ultra band-with.

So I hang up. Wheeljack shifts to normal speech seamlessly.

"-and then, of course, I've put names in. But you saw that. I had to use aliases though, in case you lose the thing." He eyes me as sternly as I suspect he's capable of. "Don't lose the thing. I can disconnect it from the system again, but it's fiddly work and I really don't want to."

"I won't lose it," I promise. "I haven't lost a phone or a wallet yet, Wheeljack."

"Good!" And now he's beaming again. This guy's a regular Olaf. Except smarter, which can be good or bad depending on where you stand. "Try calling Ratchet!"

I open the contact menu, happy that Wheeljack kept with the normal menu structure so I at least know which button to push. Though he seems to have managed to avoid using the human alphabet to impose order on the chaos – I can't figure out the system he's stored these contacts after. I browse past 'Aidan', 'Sides', 'Sonny', 'Opie' – which has me giggling until I tear up – 'Jace', 'B', 'Fowler', before stumbling upon 'Rachel'.

Rachel. It has to be it, but seriously – Rachel?

I push the green button, hold the phone to my ear.

And Ratchet's snarky voice answers. I can see him from the corner of my eye, he's not talking, so it has to be the comm.

This. Is. So. Brilliant.

"Wheeljack, this may be the most awesome thing anyone's ever given me," I grin. "Look! I have aliens on speed-dial!"

Ratchet is shaking again, but this time he's laughing out loud. "Don't encourage him too much, sparklet. He might get ideas, and he's already dangerous enough. Now come on." He picks me up, turns to the hangar door. "Let's leave the mad scientist to his experiments. I've been called to a meeting with the base medics and the Protectobots, and I'm bringing you."

"Thanks, Wheeljack!" I call, still grinning. "You're awesome!"

"You're worth it!" he calls back. "Thanks for the vote of confidence! And by the way, because I know you're going to look them up, I'd chase Mixmaster, 'face Shrapnel and erase Vortex!"

"So would I," Ratchet agrees. "It's the only logical choice, really."

That has me giggling. I can't seem to stop, either, not even when Ratchet folds down into his alt mode and drives away with me.

* * *

_Thank goodness this base has Autobots on it. Or I would file for a transfer first thing tomorrow._

_Because on top of handling stick-the-size-of-Blue's-rifle-up-her-butt Jamieson, I get to deal with doctor Amos Vale, age 65, with his grey hair and his strong nose and his misogynistic horrible attitude. He had the galls to say that clearly I'd gone into psychology because it was such a female discipline, whatever that means, and that being caring and sympathetic wouldn't cut it here, and that of course I'd gotten top marks for my thesis since I was young and blonde and pretty and probably dazzled the sensors with my young, lithe body!_

_Yes, he actually said 'young, lithe body'!_

_If Ratchet hadn't been there staring daggers at the guy I might well have slapped him! First Aid was seething, too, as much as he ever does, and I could tell he mostly wanted to pick me up and take me out of there._

_Seriously. Things were better at Diego Garcia. As far as I can tell, the only advantage this place has over DG is the fact that we're closer to civilization. And the runway's longer, the Aerialbots appreciate that at least._

_And my chair._

_Everything else is utter slag._

_I'm not even sure why I'm here. Doctor Idiot Vale won't refer anyone to me, he said so, which means that unless random soldiers walk into my office on their own account I'm going to have the emptiest schedule I've ever had._

_Boredom, here I come. I'm going to have to take up WoW or something. But I suppose Jamieson will have a fit and recall my internet connection if she catches me gaming on my work computer._

_I guess I'll get a PSP or a 3DS or something. And look forward to my Autobot sessions each day._

_Speaking of sessions, I am still sore after training with Chromia yesterday. She commed me today – her alias is 'Mia', which is one of the better ones – and apologized for being too hard on me. I told her not to worry about it, said I'd forgive her if she did the same thing to Parker Jamieson._

_Though Parker Jamieson will be in dire straits indeed before she takes lessons from an Autobot._

_Anyway, I'm going to get training sessions from a bunch of different Autobots for a while until we find a good fit for me. So day after tomorrow – the earliest Ratchet would let me try again – I'm working with Sunstreaker._

_That's more than a little worrisome._

_Though I don't really think he'd hurt me. Not on purpose. But it's_ Sunstreaker _. Mister no touch no talk no eye contact._

_And I'm going to be fighting him._

_It'll be interesting, if nothing else._

_Got to go. First Aid's comming me!_

_…I could seriously get used to that._


	23. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I had to do some research. The parts about the SAPR program procedures, as well as the statistics that Alice looked up, all true. Unfortunately, we have a ways to go yet when it comes to this subject.
> 
> So for this chapter, there is a warning. This contains references (non-graphic) to rape and sexual misconduct. If this triggers you - well, I wish you'd never had to go through that.

I wake up slowly, gradually. Realize that the light is shining in through my window. Realize that it's Monday. Realize that I'm very warm. Most likely because I'm lying in someone's arms.

As if on cue, the arms tighten around me and their owner nuzzle my ear. "Good morning," First Aid breathes.

"Mmm, good morning," I hum happily. "When did you get here?"

"Middle of the night," he replies, kissing my shoulder. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here before you went to bed. I was stuck in debriefing."

"S'okay," I reply, turning and snuggling closer to him. "I'm glad you're here. This is my favorite way of waking up."

"I couldn't resist staying." He's talking into my hair, one hand rubbing little circles into my back. "You're so gorgeous when you're sleeping, do you know that?"

I smile, lean my forehead into his neck. "I've never watched myself sleeping. Neither has anyone else, not since I was a kid. So, no."

"Nobody?" Another kiss, to my ear this time. "You mean to say that you've been- I mean-"

I have to giggle at that. First Aid is completely adorable when he feels awkward.

Not that he's not completely adorable all the time.

My God, I've got it bad. But I knew that already.

"Yes, my beautiful, bashful First Aid. The few guys I've bothered with since I became old enough to be bothered with such things have been less keen to watch me sleep and more keen to – well, sleep, to be honest."

"They didn't know what they were missing," he croons, hands getting decidedly more daring. "Lucky for me, I guess."

"First Aid… I have to go to work." I'm trying to be stern, but it's hard when I'm giggling this much, and then First Aid's fingers find a spot that makes me moan and press against him.

"Right now?" His fingers never stop.

He can be so persuasive, my First Aid. It's hard to resist. I have to consciously remind myself that I am supposed to go to work, that there's a reason that my alarm went off, that I really don't want to stir up any trouble now that we've found a way for me to work with the 'bots again, and especially since I'm seeing Optimus as my first client this afternoon.

Still, my body has other ideas.

"Aid," I moan, as he eases me onto my back, a wicked glint in his bright blue eyes. "Aid, I really, really…"

"Really?" he prompts, moving across me easily until his knees are between mine, his hands travelling down across my ribs. "You really… what?"

"I really have to go to work," I moan, hips thrusting against his clever fingers.

"Not quite yet, you don't," he murmurs. His breath is tickling my lower stomach. "You don't start until eight. Your first appointment isn't until eleven."

"You looked up my schedule," I accuse breathlessly, reaching down and fisting my hand in his hair. "That's – oh – that's privileged information."

"I'm a Protectobot," he replies, lips ghosting across my hip. "I'm privy to the medic's schedules. That includes yours."

"Are you abusing… your position?" It's getting hard to carry on something resembling an intelligent conversation here. First Aid seems intent on driving me to distraction.

"Heh. Of course."

And now his mouth, oh my God…!

My hips twitch again, without my conscious input. First Aid's practically purring. "Besides, you're mine. Of course I keep tabs on your day."

I cave. Completely. My brain is throwing in the towel, letting my hormones and sexual drive take over. I hope First Aid's sensible enough to get me to work on time.

* * *

Turns out, he really is that sensible. Just.

One minute past eight, I'm opening the door to my office, watching the smirk on my ambulance's face as he drives his own alt mode over to the next hangar.

Smart-ass, smug Protectobot. Though I guess he's earned it after giving me one of my best mornings ever. I know there's a silly grin on my face, but I can't seem to get rid of it.

Until I walk into my office and see who's waiting for me.

"Sergeant Jamieson," I say, managing to contain my surprise, though only barely. "Good morning. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Yes," she replies curtly. No 'good morning' there. "I have some case files that we wanted you to review for a psych evaluation. We had a soldier survive friendly fire, the court case is coming up. Also, we need a second opinion on the psych evals of three of our pilots."

"Certainly," I nod, motioning for her to put the papers on my desk. "I'll get right on that."

"I'll need the results by the end of the week," she says, as she puts down the documents. "Let me know if you have difficulty managing it by then."

"It shouldn't be a problem," I reply, walking over to my desk.

"Good." Jamieson turns to leave, then hesitates. That in itself is strange, but the look on her face is stranger. And the tone of her voice… "I – I heard that you met doctor Vale."

"I did," I agree noncommittally, still looking at her.

She winces slightly at my stare, a faint movement that I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been looking for it. Again, she hesitates, opening and closing her mouth a couple of times. "A word of advice," she says finally, looking away. "From one woman to another. Don't be alone with him. Keep one of those –" a brief look of something else over her face, there and gone too fast for me to identify "- Autobots close by. I understand their human forms can materialize inside a room without going through the door." She pauses, and the last comes out as a mumble. "He locks the door."

Every professional instinct I have is _screaming_ at me. "Parker," I say quietly, for the first time using that name. "Parker, what happened?"

But I don't get through. I can see the mask fall back as she straightens, all professionalism again. "Never mind." She walks towards the door. "I'll come by on Friday for your results."

Then she's gone.

And there's no way I can sit down and focus on these case files now. Exactly _what_ did Jamieson just tell me?

So instead of picking up a file, I turn on my computer to find the _Sexual Assault Prevention and Response (SAPR) Program Procedures_. I've read them before, but I've never had cause to use them.

There's a whole hundred-something-pages regulation about how to handle and report sexual abuse in the US Armed Forces. That's just sad.

And there's so much information. Types of reporting, who I have to report to, my duties, my commander's duties, recriminations, how to build criminal charges, which cases are to be reported to where… It's hard to know where to begin really, except for one thing.

Someone actually have to report something. I can't really do much on vague suspicion.

Not that that's going to stop me.

So I pick up my office phone.

"Hello, this is doctor Isobel Harrington, civilian contractee number Oh Eight Zero Five Nine," I say as my call is picked up. "I need the location of lieutenant Alice Decker." I wait while the soldier in the other end dig through the schedules for me, before telling me that Decker's on the gun range, about to finish a training session. "I see. Thank you."

That's one down. Decker is my first stop. Now I need a discreet and trustworthy Autobot – someone with authority, but who isn't threatening or blustery, and who isn't so far up the command staff that he'll be intimidating just for that.

There's only one choice, really.

I pick up my comm, and hope Wheeljack's put his number in there – and that if he did, I can recognize the alias for what it is. Some of the inventor's intuitive leaps are stranger than others.

Dorothy. With 'dot' in brackets behind it. That has to be him – at least, I can't think of who else it can be.

So I press the green button.

"Hot Spot? Good. Hi, it's Isobel. Listen, I need your help. Could you pick me up?" At his affirmative, I thank him and end the connection.

It's a start, at least. So I read through the relevant paragraphs on Restricted and Unrestricted Reporting and print a few of the corresponding forms just in case. And when the tall, serious-looking holoform walk into my office, I'm ready.

"Isobel?" Hot Spot asks as I stand up. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong with me," I reply, giving him a small smile. "Come on, I'll tell you more about it outside."

This is the biggest Autobot I've ever ridden in – he's easily as big as Optimus. Hot Spot lifts me carefully into the passenger side of the big blue fire truck alt more, and as usual the seat belt fastens itself while he walks around the cab and climbs inside the old-fashioned way.

"So, spill," he says, in a not unfriendly tone. "What do you need me for?"

"It's work-related," I begin, while wondering how to formulate the rest of it. "I'm acting on a suspicion of sexual assault."

It looks like Hot Spot gets angry at that. "A suspicion, you say. This happen to a client?"

"Someone who should be a client, I suspect," I explain. "But she won't tell me anything, she just warned me to stay away from a certain individual. And I can't report anything based on that. So now I'm chasing rumors." I glance at him. "The main reason I called you was because I needed a driver, and I needed someone reliable, authoritative and trustworthy. Someone who inspires confidence. And that's you. I hope I didn't pull you away from something more important."

"This is important," he replies. Then he shoots me a small smile. "And I'm flattered that I'm the one you thought of. I know I haven't exactly earned that."

I smile back. Not the nicest of circumstances, but maybe I can finally begin to bond with the eldest Protectobot. He's the only one left. "Yeah, you have. I can understand why you acted the way you did. And I'm kind of hoping we can move past that – because we actually agree about most things."

"You're right," he replies quietly. "I think we do. We both just want him to be happy. And neither of us can guarantee that."

I nod. "You know I'd live forever for him if I could."

"I know." Hot Spot sighs. Then he visibly tries to brighten the mood again, smiling at me. "So where are we going?"

"I thought I'd start with Alice Decker," I reply. "She's at the gun range. Not that I suspect anything's happened to her, but she might have heard something. I'm working on the assumption that if my source felt strong enough about this to warn me, she's not the only one this has happened to." And then I twist in my seat to give him a stern look. "I don't think I need to say this, but this is absolutely confidential, you understand? You do not breathe a word about this to anyone without my say-so or that of my source or clients."

"Of course," he replies, nodding. "That's a given. Though if this turns out as big as you think it is, you might want to involve Streetwise. He's got a knack for rumors."

"I'll consider it," I reply, as he slows to a stop outside the gun range. "I don't know how big this is going to be yet. To be honest, I'm hoping it's nothing."

"With a case like this, nothing would be best," he agrees. Sharp optics scrutinize me. "But you don't really believe that."

"No," I sigh. "I don't. I've got a really bad feeling about this one."

"Want me to go get her?"

"Please." I snort. "I'm not allowed to go in there."

He grins, and then vanishes in those tell-tale blue sparks.

Not five minutes later, he comes back out with Alice in tow. The redhead is wearing a confused smile, but she seems to be coming along willingly enough, climbing into the cab to sit in the middle seat. The smile widens when she sees me.

This girl is really nice. Maybe I'm making a human friend for once.

"Hey, Isobel! Hot Spot says you need me for something?"

"I do, and it's not something nice, I'm afraid," I reply, leaning forward to look past her. "Hot Spot, close the door, please. And can we go somewhere else? Somewhere private?"

"I know just the place," the Protectobot leader replies, starting his engine. "You hit your targets today, Alice?"

"Improving all the time," she grins. "Still got some way to go before I qualify for the sniper certificate, but I'll get there."

"Good. Hey, Streetwise wants to know if you're coming by for the game tonight."

"Sure," she replies, still smiling that easy smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Game?" I ask, curious, and a little surprised at how well Alice seems to be fitting in well with the Protectobots. They seem like old friends already.

And I try hard to squash the irrational flare of jealousy that that causes.

It's a good thing that she's making friends with them. She's their liaison. And the 'bots should make human friends, it's good for inter-species cooperation. Not to mention that it makes day-to-day life on the base easier.

Still… I know how much I wish that it was me who was invited over so casually for a game.

The part of me that's feeling left out, the jealous, hurt part, is insisting that they probably get along so well because she isn't dating one of them. And, specifically, because she's not dating First Aid.

The other part of me, the bigger part, is trying to smother the smaller part with a pillow.

"Yeah, we're playing _Bang_ ," Alice grins. "I taught them last week, and now it's all they ever do."

"Not true," Hot Spot chuckles. "Sometimes we play _Fluxx_."

I giggle as he slows to a stop in a wide field behind the airplane hangars. "The regular kind?"

" _Eco Fluxx_ ," he replies, winking at me. "Groove's choice."

I snort. "It would be."

"Well," Hot Spot says, cutting the engine. "We're here."

"Yeah." I look at Alice. Suddenly, I'm hesitant. I'm really, really hoping she has nothing to tell me. "Alice, I have some questions for you. And this is a confidential matter, so you can under no circumstance repeat this."

She nods. "Shoot."

I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "I had a female soldier in my office today. She warned me never to be alone with doctor Vale."

The look on Alice's face says it all. And Hot Spot looks silently furious. "It's Vale?" he growls, and it's the single most menacing sound I've heard out of a Protectobot ever.

"Yeah. Alice, I need to know what you know," I say imploringly. "Please. This needs to be reported."

She sighs. "It's… not a well-kept secret. There's a reason almost all the girls choose to see a private medic outside the base if we need something. Vale…" She looks at me guardedly.

"I need to know," I prod gently. "If I'm to get anywhere with this, I need to know where to start."

"Yeah, I guess." She frowns, looks down at her hands. "This hasn't happened to me, you understand. I was warned to stay away, and I have." She leans back, sighs, and Hot Spot takes her hand. She gives him a grateful look, and once again I'm fighting back that irrational jealousy. This isn't the time or the place. "Vale… gropes," Alice continues. "He likes touching. And he doesn't see a problem with this. You've met him?" Blue eyes meet mine questioningly, and I nod. "Then you know how he comes across. He's a… well."

"Yeah," I say, with real feeling. "He is."

"Anyway," she continues, voice dropping even lower. "Anyway. I do know a few people that he's gone many miles too far with. Whoever talked to you today, she was right to warn you not to be alone with him." A deep, steadying breath. "He's… forced women. Before. More than twice. More than two women."

I knew it. I knew my vibe was right on this.

"Slag it," Hot Spot swears, and I jump slightly at the profanity coming from the normally controlled Protectobot's mouth. "Isobel, may I consult Streetwise? I'll get him here."

I nod grimly. "Yes. I need to know everything I can at this point."

Alice takes my hand, squeezing it tightly. "As I said, nothing happened to me. But if you need names…"

"I don't know how to go about this yet," I confess. "I need someone to report something, or I'll have nothing to go on."

"Alice," Hot Spot says, and he sounds strained, as if he's forcing himself to stay calm. "Why has no one reported this? Why is he allowed to… to…"

"To continue his practice? His behavior?" I ask, and he nods.

"You don't understand," Alice says quietly, and now she's the one rubbing his hand comfortingly. "And how could you? You don't have genders, not like that. You have frame types, but it's not the same. Not the same as being a woman in a traditional male role, trying to make gangway into a work environment that's been predominantly male for so long that everything – _everything_ – is derogatory to women. From what the weapons are called, to the insults usually screamed at the male recruits during training, to the way you're just not expected to succeed. And where so many of your coworkers, your commanding staff, see nothing wrong with that at all, because it's just words, right? Or it's just good fun, right? Don't be such a girl about it." She looks out through the front window, but she's not looking at anything. She's looking inward. "About twenty percent of the US armed forces are female. That's about two hundred thousand. Last year, just over six thousand cases of sexual assault were reported. That's less than half of the cases that actually happened, based on an anonymous survey that was conducted. In that, nearly ten percent of female soldiers reported some form of sexual harassment or assault." She smiles mirthlessly. "I looked them up, you know. The numbers. To be honest, it's not strange at all that he's allowed to continue. It's the norm."

Outside the window, the black and white police car slows to a stop next to us. Hot Spot fades away, still looking furious, and Streetwise takes his place.

"Spot told me what you need," he begins without preamble. "Doctor Vale does have a bad reputation. I have five names I'm reasonably sure of, and three more where I think something's happened though they haven't said much about it. The cases vary from sexual misconduct to sexual assault. From unwanted advances to rape."

"And the names you're sure of?" I ask quietly.

"Sending them to your comm," he replies, and my gadget makes a funny little noise.

Huh. I didn't know it could receive text files.

"I also checked the records for corresponding events," he continues. "And I think he's been doing this for a long time. I have twenty-seven other probables and eighteen other possibles no longer stationed on this base. That's from the last fifteen years." He frowns angrily. "Bastard."

"I'll send you some names as well," Alice says softly. "I owe that to one of those probables."

"Thanks," I say, squeezing her hand. "Let's bring this asshole down, okay?"

She nods then, firmly, harshly. "Yes. Let's."

* * *

"You're very tense, love," First Aid murmurs. His hands are kneading their way across my bare back. "I don't think I've ever felt your muscles this stiff."

I groan, melting under his hands. "I've had really sucky days at work. And I can't really tell you about it."

"This the thing you're working with Hot Spot and Streets?"

"The very same," I mumble into the mattress. "Oh my God, First Aid. I've missed you every minute of today."

He chuckles softly. "I was here this morning. And we ate lunch together. And dinner."

"I know," I agree. "But there were _hours_ in between those times, Aid."

The chuckle turns into a laugh, and I can feel First Aid's lips pressing against my naked shoulder. "Well, for what it's worth, I did miss you too. Every minute." His hands move up to my neck, manipulating the muscles there. I grunt as the pain shoots across my scalp and center in my forehead.

"Isobel, we need to get you to relax a bit more," he says sternly. "Or these neck muscles are going to give you killer headaches."

"Tell me about it. Ow – ow ow ow ow ow –" I squeeze my eyes shut as he takes hold of the top of my shoulder muscles and pinch them, holding tight. "Damn it, First Aid, that hurts!"

"I know," he says apologetically. After a few more seconds, he lets go. "I'm sorry, love. But you really don't want this to get any more tense than it is. Come on."

"Come on?" I roll partway over, look up at him.

"Yes," he replies, giving me a smile that's promising a really interesting evening for me. "I figure after putting you through that, I owe you some relaxation. So come on." He bends down, picks me up easily. "Shower first, and then…" Blue eyes burn into mine. "And then, we'll see how good I can make you feel."

Oh. Well, I can certainly live with that! And when First Aid kisses me, I'm very glad that I'm being carried, because I'm dead sure that I wouldn't be able to stay on my feet. My legs are Jell-O.

First Aid carries me into the shower, where he puts me back down on my feet and pull my slacks and underwear off in one easy motion, kissing his way down my leg as he does. I have to lean back against the cool shower wall to stay upright.

"Aid," I moan, as his mouth move to the inside of my thigh, nibbling and biting. My skin erupts into goosebumps.

"You're so gorgeous, love," he whispers, nuzzling my leg, stomach, chest. "Come on."

Dismissing his clothes, he shifts me into the shower proper and turn the water on – taking care, of course, to keep the first cold droplets away from me. When the water heats up, he steps into the shower with me.

It's a tight fit. These quarters are anything but luxurious, and with two adult humans – well, one human and one solid-light holoform – we've barely got room to move.

Not that that stops us. Or, more specifically, First Aid. Because I am just putty in his hands.

He makes sure to keep me under the hot water, keeping the jet just shy of painfully strong, Not that I notice. Not with those hands running across my body from my legs up to my neck, over my shoulders, down across my breasts and oh my God, his mouth his following down the same path, kissing and licking the skin down across my collar bone and sternum to find my nipple and suck it gently, insistently.

My knees buckle.

First Aid chuckles and simply hoists me up, spreading his legs to take my weight, placing my legs on either side of his hips. Of course, that puts him in the perfect position to…

Oh my God…!

Still cradling my thighs in his hands, his lips moving up my neck until he finds my mouth, he leans me back against the wall. "I love you," he murmurs in between kisses. "Primus, Isobel, you're so gorgeous."

I just moan in response. I lost the ability to form coherent words some time ago. And when he thrusts into me, at this angle, it's enough to make me throw my head back and scream.

Neither of us last very long after that.

First Aid eases my trembling legs down, making sure he still has my weight. When he's sure I'm not going to drop straight down to the floor, he soaps me up gently, rubbing soft circles across my skin before rinsing the suds off. When I'm clean, pleasantly exhausted and more than a little drowsy, he towels me dry before picking me back up.

"Love you," he murmurs, kissing my forehead.

"Love you more," I sigh contentedly, nuzzling closer to him. "Stay with me tonight?"

"I will," he promises, carrying me out through the living room and past the partition that stands between the bed and the couch. "Always."

I'm half asleep as he lowers me into the bed, crawling in behind me and pulling the covers over both of us.

"Sleep tight, my love," he whispers, nuzzling against the back of my neck and wrapping his arms around my waist. "Sweet dreams."

Warm, safe and content, I slip into the darkness.

* * *

I was waiting for Sunstreaker's holoform to appear for our first session here. I did not expect his alt mode to come barreling up the road, drifting to a stop in front of me, gorgeous driver looking through the open passenger door.

"Get in!" he calls, smirking.

So I do. I mean, I'm the first to admit that I barely know a sports car from an SUV, but this car?

I'd go pretty far to get a ride in this car.

Because nobody ever does. Sunstreaker does not play transport to squishies any more than Cliffjumper does – less, probably.

So I'm honored. Even if I don't know what exactly he's planning.

"I thought you were coming to see me," I grin as the seatbelt fastens around me.

"Nah," he grins, "I talk better if I can work some built-up energy out of my system first. So we're going training, and then we'll do the talking afterwards."

Then he's off again, same breakneck speed, and the sound of the high-powered engine is doing strange things to my lower abdomen.

I'm suddenly realizing why some say cars can be sexy. Sunstreaker's oozing sex appeal.

And he knows it.

I lean back and enjoy the ride. It ends faster than I'd have preferred, when he slows down behind the main hangars and open the door for me. I realize that we're on the edge of the same field where I talked to Hot Spot, but unlike the Protectobot leader Sunstreaker doesn't have the ground clearance to navigate the rougher surface.

When I get out, he transforms and bends to let me sit in his hand.

This Autobot is making a lot of progress today. Or he might just tolerate more from me than from others.

"So what are we doing?"

"I'm going to work on your body control," he replies with a smirk, the sunlight reflecting in his golden helmfins. "I can't teach you how to fight other human-sized characters, I've never fought in holoform and I don't want to. What I can do, is teach you how to fight Decepticons. And we start with the most important lesson. How to dodge."

While he's talking, he carries me out on the field until we're a fair distance from the buildings.

"Your main advantage if the 'Cons come for you is your size," Sunstreaker continues. "You're small and easily missed. You need to work on your speed, your agility, and your focus, so you can see where your foe is going to be and where you need to move. So I've come up with a good exercise for today. And enlisted some help."

I turn to where he's pointing and see Blaster waiting for us. His coloring's almost as bright as Sunstreaker's in this light, though thankfully not polished to that high a finish. Or I'd have needed sunglasses.

"Hey, my main girl," Blaster grins. "Welcome to the jungle!"

"Hey, Blaster," I reply, smiling. "So Sunstreaker roped you into this too, huh?"

"Not me," the boom-box mech replies. "Them."

As Sunstreaker lowers me to the ground, I see the cassettes running around on the field. Although they seem to be all over the place, they turn as one suddenly and race back to where we're standing.

Sunstreaker waits until they're standing expectantly next to me before speaking. "So! As I said. Speed. Agility. Focus. I've found a clever way to work on this." He grins, and I take an involuntary step back. "You need to dodge me, and I'm going to be going for you. Good luck. Isobel, you watch first, and join in when you feel ready. Now," Sunstreaker purrs, "let's play tag."

Tag?

As in, the children's game tag?

It seems overly simple. But as I stand there next to Blaster, watching the cassettes trying to evade Sunstreaker, I can see why it's a good exercise for this kind of training.

The cassettes are close to my size. Watching them dodge the big golden Autobot is a good example of how I would need to act to get away from a Decepticon. Plus, it looks like they're having fun. It's not long before both Blaster and I are grinning.

"Stand still, you little pests!" Sunstreaker growls, but I can tell there's no malice in it.

"Move faster, you big oaf!" Rewind retaliates, and Ramhorn sniggers.

Eject looks like he's dancing. Really, there's no other word for it. He's darting here and there, spinning, jumping, and each time Sunstreaker lunges for him he's just not there anymore. At one point, the tall Autobot puts his pede down where the cassette was just moments earlier, missing him by mere inches.

I wince. "Aren't you nervous for them?"

"Nah," Blaster laughs. "We do this a lot. It's all fun and games."

"Until someone loses a limb," I point out.

"Then it's a critical hit," Blaster finishes, grinning at me. "Don't worry, my main girl. It's all good." One dark finger press against my back. "Go join them."

Feeling more than a little apprehensive, I walk slowly forward. Until I'm within Sunstreaker's reach, and he spots me. When he reaches for me with a wicked grin, I give an undignified squeak and dart away.

And so we continue. I run, slide, at one point trip and slam into Rewind hard enough for both of us to rebound backwards, and laugh until I'm in stitches, holding my sides.

When Sunstreaker finally stops me by planting a foot directly in my way so I have no choice but to crash into it, I'm pretty much ready to admit that this is the most fun I've had in ages.

As soon as I get my breath back, anyway.

"Not bad, Isobel," Sunstreaker grins, scooping me up. "I almost had to work for that."

"Oh, shut up," I pant, leaning backwards until I'm laying flat in his palm. "If you – were a 'Con – I'd be dead by now."

"When you guys are done warming up…" Blaster says from behind us.

I turn to the yellow twin. "Warming up?" I accuse. I try to glower at him, but it's really hard to present a decent glower when you're panting like a dog on a hot day and match Blaster's red plating.

"Yeah," Sunstreaker says with a smirk, pulling something from his subspace. "Now the real training begins. Laser tag."

"Wheeljack said you needed to practice with that gun," Blaster puts in, nudging me to sit up so he can pull a vest over my head. "Now, obviously we can't have you firing real acid pellets at us. Ratchet would have a fit. And this vainglorious creature nixed the paintball."

"Like anyone would be allowed to shoot paint pellets at me," Sunstreaker scoffs.

"So, laser tag," Blaster grins, tightening the last strap on my vest. "Jazz designed a program that lets us know if you hit us and where. So you can practice hitting vulnerable areas on us without it actually causing damage."

Sunstreaker puts me down and hands me a laser tag rifle. It's a tiny miniature of the one he's holding. "Word of advice, little sister," he smirks. "Run."

I run.

* * *

_Sixty-eight times._

_Sunstreaker hit me_ sixty-eight _times. I'm so dead. I better hope the Decepticons never learn about me, because I'll be history if they ever actually come gunning for me. Acid pellets or no acid pellets._

_In my defense, I had seven hits on Sunny and three on Blaster. The last hit I got on Sunny was enough to seriously mess with his leg – at least it would have been if I was shooting acid. So there's hope. A smidgeon of it._

_Anyway, Sunstreaker was right about burning off the excess energy. He's never been that cheerful in my office before. Or my room, this time – in lieu of access to my real office, I've taken to using my couch for the Autobot sessions. Optimus was the first to test it on Monday, and Sunstreaker said it worked out okay too, so that's good. I think this will be good enough, for now._

_But if I'm going to keep having so many hot guys in my room, I need to work on a coping technique. Yes, I'm in love with First Aid, more than I actually know how to describe, and there's no way in pit I'm giving up on my Protectobot. But I'm in no way immune to the sight of hot males. Who is?_

_Optimus has the most sexy back I have ever laid eyes on. And Sunstreaker's shirt was so tight that when he stretched I could see every one of his stomach muscles._

_Gah. Taking calming breaths now and thinking about other things. Snow. Big puddles of water. Requisition forms. That episode of Grimm with the Aswang._

_Right. That did it. Whenever I have problems keeping my eyes off a hot Autobot who is not_ my _Autobot, I will envision an Aswang. Or something._

_I spent a lot of time looking away from the couch and thinking of my Protectobot. He's in for a surprise if he comes by tonight. I better tell him how these guys affect me, too, so I can reassure him._

_Reassuring First Aid is always fun. And his back is dead sexy, too._

_Anyway. Moving on._

_Sunstreaker spent a lot of his time with me doodling on that Buddha board I got him. He says it's relaxing – he can make tiny, perfect lines, and then they fade away. Of course, it's also infuriating because he doesn't have time to correct mistakes before they're gone, forcing him to do the entire thing again. He made seventeen almost identical sketches of Perceptor while we were sitting there – he was never satisfied with the lens on his shoulder._

_So he gets to work on his patience. That's a good thing, for Sunstreaker._

_He also did a quick one of me. It was flattering – I looked a lot better than I actually do._

_It's interesting to watch him. I'd guess most of those who know Sunstreaker have him pegged as a violent frontliner, which is true. But I'm beginning to think that that's his reaction pattern, not his personality type. No one who is inherently violent and aggressive can show the type of calm he did today, not without some sort of restless motion. Also, self-absorbed though he is, he really absorbs the people around him, too._

_He drew nine Autobots, three humans and two and a half landscapes today. I could recognize every image._

_Because Sunstreaker watches._

_I've seen him in public. He's usually sitting with Sideswipe, letting the more outgoing twin take all the attention. It gives him excellent opportunity to study his surroundings and fellow Autobots._

_It's good camouflage, actually. No one expects the mech who seems to mainly care about himself to be such a keen observer. Which means that he doesn't have to answer for his motives. Or motifs, haha._

_I'm fairly sure he draws a lot of his pictures from memory. And I'm not sure I want to know how he managed to stumble upon Ironhide with that ecstatic look on his face. Not to mention that one sketch of all the Aerialbots together – I don't claim to be an expert on Autobot intimacy, but I'm fairly sure that that one was not suitable for the work place._

_And it reminded me, mid-session, of First Aid saying that the Protectobots preferred to interface outside the gestalt._

_I had my job cut out for me explaining away my blush at that point. And I'm not sure Sunstreaker believed me._

_Scratch that, I bet he didn't. Not with the way I was babbling. I was too busy imagining a Protectobot cuddle-pile to form actual sentences._

_…_ _Damn. Aswang. Horrible bug humans. People eating live crickets, with that nasty carapace crunch._

_Gah._

_First Aid better come around tonight, or I'm going to have to seek him out._


	24. Moving forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for this chapter: attempted sexual assault. Descriptions of a history of sexual assault.

I let my head drop down on my desk with a dull thump. "This isn't working."

"You try," Hot Spot disagrees quietly. "No one can really ask more than that."

"Trying isn't getting any results, though," I reply, muffled slightly by the surface of the desk. "If I can't get anyone to report anything, this will all be for nothing. I can't get an indictment on air charges."

"Hey." Hot Spot's cool hand lands on the back of my neck. "Don't worry. We'll take this guy down."

I lift my head to look up at him. "Jamieson won't talk, though. I'll keep working on her, but that girl hates me for some reason. And I'm not really that big a fan of her either, to be honest."

He chuckles. "We did notice that. But we'll figure something out, okay? Streetwise is going out to talk to three of the discharged possibles tonight, and Alice is going with him. We may have a report by tomorrow."

"God, I hope so," I nod. "I'm not trained for this. I'm already at the stage of daily stress-induced headaches."

"Yes, First Aid told me." The hand drops to my shoulder, rubs gently. "Don't run yourself too hard, okay? First Aid gives me the worst kicked-puppy look if I do something to make you upset, and for some reason, you over-working yourself in my company counts."

"Can't promise that," I groan, letting my head tilt forward again under his touch. "I'm running myself as hard as I have to. He shouldn't be taking that out on you."

"He's my brother. And you're his mate. Of course he does."

"You guys keep saying that," I mumble, melting under those fingers now. Hot Spot doesn't quite have the magic touch his brother does, but it's close. And after a weekend of looking up leads, trying – and failing – to get some of the names Alice and Streetwise got me to talk to me, this is sorely needed. "That I'm his mate. But that's not possible."

Hot Spot's hands pause for a moment before he continues. "You may not be able to bond with him," he murmurs, "but you are First Aid's mate, Isobel. Don't doubt that."

I just close my eyes. It makes no sense. First Aid shouldn't be mated to me.

"And why is that?" Hot Spot asks softly, and I hadn't even realized I was speaking out loud.

"You know all the arguments," I mutter. "After all, you were the one who told them to me."

"I went much further than I should," he says, and he sounds contrite. "I had no right to say those things. I'm sorry, Isobel."

"Did you get punished with the kicked-puppy look?"

"For weeks," he snorts. "I don't know if you've realized this, Isobel, but you're pretty slagging important to my brother. And, by extension, you're pretty important to the rest of us too."

"Does that mean you don't dislike me anymore?" I ask, hiding my face against the desk. I'm kind of nervous to hear what he'll answer; I'm fairly sure he never hated me, not really. But this is the mech who told me that he wished me and his brother had never met.

The hand disappears from my neck. I have just a moment to mourn that before I'm picked up and put on my feet, and held close against a tall holoform.

"I haven't treated you right," Hot Spot says, hugging me. Hesitantly, I reach out and hug him back. "I'm sorry, Isobel. You're my – what's the term? Sister-in-law?"

I snort. "Only if we got married, which, you know, not likely. I doubt you'll get that kind of civic rights."

"Did you not hear me say you are his bondmate?" he chuckles. "You're my brother's mate, Isobel. It's the same thing, with us." He squeezes me gently. "Welcome to the family, sister."

Whoa, that's unexpected.

And suddenly I'm tearing up. Seriously. I have to disengage from his hold to rub at my eyes.

Of course, I'm pulled right back in. "Don't cry, Isobel," Hot Spot says softly. "I really am sorry."

I just bury my head against his shoulder. The tears are flowing freely now, but I don't care. And Hot Spot can change into a dry shirt more easily than I can. "Happy tears, Spot," I manage to say. "Happy tears."

In response, I'm just held tighter. "We must have been really awful to you for you to react this strongly."

I shake my head against his chest. "You didn't say anything that wasn't true."

"Yeah, I did." He sounds upset, and holy crap did Hot Spot just kiss my hair?

I think he did.

Well, that's a turnaround.

"I was way out of line," he continues. "I had no right. You're good for Aid. Yes, when he loses you he'll be devastated. But he knows that too, and if he didn't think you were worth it he wouldn't have pursued you. One human lifetime with you – he'll take that. He's already taken it. And all I've done is give you grief for it."

"Yeah, yeah," I half-giggle, half-sob, and if my voice is trembling, well, crying does that to a person. "You're forgiven. Now let go of me before you make your brother jealous."

He laughs, but he lets me go. "On terror of the puppy dog eyes," he replies with a smile. One finger lifts my chin up so I look into his eyes. "Seriously, though. Are you okay?"

I nod, wiping the tears away. "I'm good. Promise. Not denying it's been a bitch of a time sometimes, but I'm good now."

"I really am sorry," he repeats, and oh man, First Aid is not the only one with big sad eyes.

"I said you're forgiven." I give him a smile, and then a push. "And I need to go, I have a session with Optimus in less than an hour and I have to eat first. Walking to the mess hall takes time, you know."

He nods, smiling back. "You don't have to go anywhere. First Aid's coming to get you." And then he presses another kiss to my forehead. "Don't stress, sister. Streets and Alice will get results." He winks. "I'll see you later."

He vanishes, leaving me standing there with a cloud of blue sparks.

Apparently, cheeky runs in the Protectobot family. And I'm so glad I finally get to see it.

When First Aid materializes in my office an instant later, he is _beaming_.

"You won him over!" he chants, picking me up and spinning with me. "I knew you would!"

"Put me down, you crazy mech," I laugh, but my arms are around his neck and I'm holding on to him for bare life. And not because I'm afraid he'll drop me. "You seem inordinately happy about this for someone who thought it was a given result."

"I haven't enjoyed watching you suffer and feeling my brother's fears and nerves about the whole thing," he says, tightening his arms around my waist. "So I'm glad he finally realized that this is happening and there's nothing that will change it. That in turn let him see what an amazing person you are."

"Easy with the flattery there," I giggle. "You might give a girl airs."

"You're perfect," he says, his face burrowing into the side of my neck. "You're fantastic. You're strong, and brave, and considerate, and beautiful, and caring, and hot as all pit, and –"

"- and also late," I giggle, because seriously, how else am I supposed to react to all that? "I have a session with Optimus afterwards, and I need to eat first. So let me go already."

Not that I'm letting go either. Nuh-uh. First Aid's gotten himself a clingy mate.

He's stopped spinning, though, and leans his forehead against mine. I've seen Ironhide do this with Chromia and Jazz do it with Prowl, I think it has a special significance for them. So I lean into the contact, closing my eyes.

"I love you, Isobel," First Aid whispers. "I'd spend the rest of my life with you if that was possible. I certainly plan to stay for the rest of yours." He kisses me softly, setting off serious butterflies in my stomach. "And that starts with taking you to dinner so you're not late for your appointment. Come on."

He grins and takes my hand, pulling me towards the door, and I'm giggling like mad. I'm crushing so badly on my Protectobot, I'm all giddy here. It's a good thing he loves me back, or I'd be completely devastated.

I'm all ready to follow him. But outside my office, Parker Jamieson is standing, staring at us. And I just can't leave without talking to her.

So I pull loose from First Aid's hand. "Aid, give me a moment," I murmur, and he nods, vanishing and reappearing inside the ambulance alt mode. Jamieson is staring after him with wide eyes.

"Parker –" I begin, and that's as far as I get before she cuts me off.

"It's _sergeant Jamieson_ ," she says, all wrapped up in that cloak of regulations she hides behind. "Doctor Harrington, I came to tell you that I'll be bringing more files by your office on Friday morning. So you need to make time for that."

"Okay," I nod, before I take a breath and try again. "Sergeant Jamieson, please reconsider reporting this. It would help if –"

"There is nothing to report," she replies coldly. "Now I suggest you move along before you come under harassment charges."

I blink. She's more defensive than I thought. At this rate, I'm never going to get anything out of her. I have to give it one more try, though. "Please. If you won't talk to me, talk to someone else. You shouldn't shoulder this alone."

"Back off," she snarls, suddenly furious. "You know nothing about anything." Then she's back under the mask again, fast enough that I can't catch the transition from one expression to the next. "Dismissed," she says, all cool authority.

And in the face of that, I can't do anything but walk away. As I get into the ambulance alt mode, my good mood's almost evaporated.

And Jamieson is still frowning at me, I can see her from here.

"You'll get through to her somehow," First Aid says, reaching over to take my hand as the engine starts.

I shake my head. "I don't think so. The harder I try, the more she pushes back. She's built some serious walls around herself – I think it's a coping technique, and every time I pry she just reinforces them. She's hurting, and she won't let me help." I sigh. "It's frustrating. And even more so because I can't tell you about it."

He reaches out and pulls me close. "You don't have to. I understand enough to know what you're going through. And you'll let me know if there's anything I can do to help." It's not a question, but I nod anyway, curling up against his side. The seat configuration of the ambulance makes it a bit tricky, but it's not like a little thing like a gearstick and center console is going to stop us.

Especially since they're also part of First Aid, and he makes all kinds of interesting noises when I 'accidentally' touch them.

"You know, at some point I'd love to properly explore your root mode," I murmur, and First Aid almost drives off the road.

I try to stop myself. I do. But the flustered look on his face, combined with the heavy blush, and the fact that even his holoform has to concentrate to stay on the road combines to break me. So before I know it, I'm laughing so hard that I'm practically keeling over into his lap.

"Not funny," he grumbles, but I can hear the smile. The hand moving hesitantly on my waist is a giveaway too.

"Oh no, it's totally funny," I giggle. "I didn't know I could make you lose control with just a few words."

He chuckles. "You would be surprised at how little control I actually have around you, love. You're pretty distracting."

I grin, and something in my expression makes him push into the seat and watch me warily. "So if I do this…" I purr, letting one hand run down the gearstick and the other dip down beneath the steering column before exploring every bit of car I can reach.

And First Aid gasps, leaning back even further, with the ambulance swerving from side to side. "Ah, please, Isobel, not now, not here, oh Primus that's – no! Don't, love, I'll – ohh - crash into something, there are too many people and things here and Prowl and Ratchet would have my bolts for that and please love, don't – Primus! Oh frag Isobel that feels – please stop, I can't control myself and I promise I'll take you to some backwoods road where you can explore to your heart's content and nothing would make me happier only please stop!"

I pull my hands away from the apparently very sensitive steering wheel wiring and grin at him. "Wow, First Aid, I drove you to rambling. Cool. Usually you're the one who makes me incoherent."

He smiles, a relieved expression that makes it all too clear what he's feeling. "Primus, you're a devious creature, Isobel."

"I aim to please," I whisper, leaning in and kissing his cheek quickly. "But I'll behave. Since you promised."

"You do please," he says, voice suddenly an octave lower, and the way he's looking at me doesn't leave much to the imagination. "You have no idea. You drive me crazy on a regular basis." He visibly steels himself. "But you're running behind schedule for that session. I think we'll have to just get your food so you can eat it back home."

"Okay," I nod. "Your wish is my command."

The look he shoots me is pure lust. "Oh, I'm looking forward to trying that, too." He leans in, brushes a soft kiss across my ear. "I bet you look hot taking commands."

I just gape at him.

* * *

I'm swallowing the last bit of my dinner as Optimus appears in my room. He actually materializes on the couch, which must have taken some concentration.

"Good evening, Isobel," he greets me, smiling at the way I'm frantically trying to finish my meal before I have to open my mouth. "Don't bother. First Aid commed me and told me you were running a little late."

I nod, drinking down the last of the water in my bottle. "I am," I reply when it's safe to speak again. "I'm sorry about that. Feel free to stay longer if you like."

"Don't worry about me," he says, and then manages a smile that's both hesitant and proud. "I'm meeting Ratchet afterwards."

"Oooh," I purr, leaning forward in the same pose I used when Skyfire was telling me about his life. I  
guess this is my 'listening excitedly'-pose. "You two going out?"

"He's promised me the rest of the day," Optimus confirms, still with that goofy smile on his face. "It's not often I get to tear him away from the medbay, so I'm planning to make the most of it."

"Sounds like you've got quite a date planned," I grin. Though inside, I'm a little disappointed. This means that First Aid's on duty in medbay tonight and probably won't be coming by. "So he's gotten over the whole 'not worthy of the Prime' thing then?"

"Yes and no," Optimus sighs. "He's allowing me to date him, but he insists that we keep it casual. I asked him if he would let me court him, but he said he had to think about it. That's almost two months ago now."

"Court?" I quirk an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"We need to update your files," he says, smiling slightly. "You must have a whole new series of questions at this point. Courting was – is, I don't know – how we would determine the suitability of a prospective mate. If Ratchet allowed me to court him, I would be allowed to take him on dates, to prove myself to him, to shower him in presents. And at the end of the courtship, there would be a bonding – or not, depending on how it all worked out."

"You want to bond with him," I say, and it's not a question.

He hesitates, then nods. "I do."

Holy crap. Ratchet is keeping Optimus fragging Prime cooling his heels, waiting for an answer to what is pretty much a promise of eternal commitment.

What's going on in the head of this medic!? This is Optimus Prime we're talking about here! Primus-chosen leader of the Cybertronian race, wise, caring, hot as hell in every form he has and an all-round nice guy, and Ratchet can't give him a straight-up answer?

"Has he told you why?" I ask. I have a hard time trying to keep the incredulousness out of my voice, and judging from the Prime's face, I'm not entirely successful.

"No," he replies, shaking his head. "He said he had to think about it. I haven't pushed, because pushing Ratchet just ends up with him becoming defensive and pushing back. I don't want to trigger that, it's so hard to work around."

"I guess I can see that." I sigh. "Well, you know that I'm not trained in couple's counseling. Though with the way you and your mechs are at it, I've been considering it as a second career."

Optimus snorts at that. With the face of this holoform, it's endearing. I'm pretty sure Optimus could do anything as this holoform and it would be attractive.

"I'm no expert on Ratchet either," I continue. "So I can't tell you what will work there. But I'm beginning to know you pretty well. You're a very patient mech, Optimus, but how patient are you in this?"

"I've waited for Ratchet for vorns," he says. "As long as there's hope for us, I'll keep waiting."

I nod slowly. "That's what I thought. Then there's one thing I have to tell you, and it's not going to be something you want to hear."

"What's that?" he asks, guarded but pleasant. Optimus is nothing if not polite.

"Don't let him keep you on ice until you're frozen through," I say, then frown at myself. "As much sense as that makes. What I mean is, don't wait for him until there's nothing left in you. Don't lose yourself to this. If he just strings you along for an age, don't put up with it. You're worth more than that."

"I appreciate the sentiment. And I'm thankful that you care. He loves me, though." Optimus is looking from my face to his hands. "He does. He just doesn't surrender easily."

"Try at all," I snort, because I know that much about the ornery Autobot medic. "But I believe you. I just don't want you hurt."

Optimus smiles at that, and before I know it I'm treated to a trademarked Optimus Prime-hug. "Thanks, Isobel."

I'm never one to turn down a hug, and Optimus is a total sweetheart, so of course I hug him back. "No problem. You're my friend, Optimus, more than my client."

And then my comm goes off. Optimus breaks his hold on me, allowing me to see the short message from Streetwise.

_Reported. Paperwork filed._

So I jump up and down, squealing like a kid. Finally! _Finally_ , we got someone!

"Good news, I take it?" Optimus is chuckling, and I realize that I'm probably behaving like the sparklet they're always saying I am, but I don't care.

"The best," I grin. "Major breakthrough, right here."

"I'm glad," he smiles back, "whatever it is. Do you need to follow up on it?"

"Nah, they're not back yet." I wave that away. "I'll talk to them later. So tell me what else is new in your life?"

* * *

_Optimus stayed until Streetwise and Alice came knocking at my door. After he left, I sent a quick text comm to Ratchet._

_"_ _If you hurt Optimus, so help me God, I will find a way to make you suffer."_

_The answer came a moment later. "Heh. Noted, sparklet. Thanks."_

_I put the fear of irate psychologists into him, at least. Somewhat._

_Streets and Alice had the best news. Three reports were filed. That means this is going to be investigated. I don't have to dig anymore, the appropriate authorities can do that now. I'll notify the Sexual Assault Response Coordinator, let whoever it is know that I'm available for counseling if it's needed._

_Thank goodness that we got somewhere with this. I feel like I can finally relax again._

_Of course, it's not over until Parker Jamieson is sitting in my office, working through whatever that bastard did. And that's not going to happen in the foreseeable future._

_At least I get to focus on something else for a while. The SARC should let me know if I'm needed._

_I think I'm going to spend the rest of the evening with the Doctor and Ben &Jerry's. I haven't had an evening to myself like this for a while._

_I'm just going to comm First Aid first._

* * *

"Good," Ironhide says as the target explodes in a show of light. "That's the main energon line you just hit. That'll incapacitate any 'Con you meet."

"If they do me the kindness of standing still until I've taken aim properly," I grin. I have to admit, I'm a bit proud of myself for managing this.

I just downed my first 'Con.

Granted, he's a projected target on the back of the hangar wall, and I'm still using the laser tag pistol, but I hit my target. And it was an vital target, too, meaning I both chose well and shot well. I'm allowed to be proud of that.

"Well done, Isobel," Chromia grins. "That's a much better solution for you than the hand-to-hand."

"I think it increases my survival rate," I agree. "I just need to work on my speed."

"You're not half bad, for a rookie," Ironhide says, and I take it as the praise it is. "We'll get you there. And then no Decepticon will be safe."

It's mostly a joke. No one really expects me to do any fighting – heck, they barely expect me to hit what I aim at most of the time.

"That's true," a honeyed voice says from behind me. "If she doesn't shoot them, she'll cuddle them into submission."

"More likely to work, too, even if her aim is improving," another one continues. It's nearly the same, but not quite.

"Hey, Sides, Sunny," I grin, turning where I lie to see the twins watching me. "Come to see me take this fiend apart?"

"Yeah, come on," Sideswipe says, grinning. "Give us a demonstration."

So I do. I fire another set of rounds into the electronic target, managing to find the gaps between plating for most of the shots.

"And that slagger's down," Ironhide says proudly. "Well done, femmeling."

Another new diminutive nickname. Can't say I'm thrilled, but I'm not going to argue, I'm too pleased with myself right now.

"Good stuff," Sunstreaker agrees. "You keep this up, you won't even need a guard for our outing."

Now that gets my attention. I turn all the way around to look at him. "Outing?"

"Yep," he grins. "We're going to San Francisco in a few weeks. There's an art festival."

"And a car show," Sideswipe supplies helpfully. "Prime's approved it. A bunch of us are going, and we want you to come with. Want to?"

"Sure, absolutely!" I flash them a quick smile. "I'm always up for a road trip. And San Francisco's lovely, even in winter."

"Good," Sunstreaker smiles back – well, his version of a smile, at least. Which means a tiny quirk of the mouth, just barely there for me to see. "Keep practicing." Then he follows his brother as they walk away.

"Actually, you're done for today," Chromia says. "Ratchet's comming me, he says someone called the SARC is waiting for you at your office."

"Huh, that was fast." I stand up, hand my gun over to Ironhide. "I should get moving, then."

Chromia nods, then drops down into her motorcycle alt mode. "Get on."

I can't stop the grin. This is just too awesome.

Riding with Arcee or Chromia is different from riding with the others. The mechs are showing off when I'm hitching a ride, barreling down the roads like they've got the devil on their heels or something. The femmes are different – just as fast, but graceful, going fast because it's fun rather than to prove something. And when I lean forward on the motorcycle, getting much closer than I would to anyone but First Aid, it feels as though I'm a part of Chromia as she makes the tight turns. We get there way too soon for my liking.

There's a woman waiting outside my office. She's tall, dressed in a soldier's uniform with medic's crosses on her arms and long, very curly, reddish-brown hair. She smiles at me when I get off the motorcycle. "Doctor Isobel Harrington? I'm Catherine Hancock. I need a moment of your time." The accent is British, surprisingly.

"Absolutely," I smile, shaking her hand. "Come into my office."

"Thanks." Her handshake is firm and strong.

I think I like her.

As soon as the door's closed, she begins speaking again. "You've probably guessed why I'm here. I'm the SARC for this base. I understand we owe the recent influx of cases to you."

"Influx?" I ask. "Last I heard, there were three."

"Well, now, there are seven. Ranging in severity, thank goodness, but all of them aimed at Amos Vale." She looks at me searchingly. "I came to ask if you have more information to contribute to this."

"I can give you a few more names, probably," I reply. "I've tried to get through to them, but they're scared or in denial."

"Anything you can give me will be appreciated," Hancock says. "This is going to be a real doozy. Vale has a lot of support in command."

"You don't think he'll be allowed to walk, do you?"

She purses her lips. "I cannot be sure. With the scope that's appearing here, all from one man, I'd say it's less than likely. But he's evaded these kinds of consequences before. That's why we need to be thorough."

"I'll forward you the names," I agree. "Anything I can do to help."

"I certainly appreciate it," she nods. The she switches from all business to all casual. "There is something you can do for me personally, too." Her lips pull up in a grin, making her look younger. "I've been dying to meet these Autobots. And I understand you're just the person to ask."

I grin back at her. "Now that I can do. I've got a client session later tonight, but that gives me the rest of the afternoon to introduce you. Anyone in particular you want to meet?"

"I'll leave that up to you," she replies, smiling. "You know them."

I pick up my comm at that, calling the only one on there who's kept his own nickname. "Hey, Bee? If you're not busy, can you pick me up? I'm at my office with a colleague, and she's very interested in meeting the Autobots."

"Be right there," his chipper voice says before the connection is cut.

"Come on," I say, moving towards the door. "He's quite a bit faster than legal, he'll be here in a moment."

I'm right, of course. I can hear the roar of the high-performance engine coming around the corner as Catherine Hancock walks out next to me.

She stares with wide eyes as the canary-yellow Camaro screeches to a stop in front of my office.

Bumblebee's holoform appears next to us, wearing a cheeky grin. "Hey, Isobel! Feel like I haven't talked to you since Diego Garcia!"

And then I'm hugged. It's 'hug the psychologist'-week, apparently. But Bee is one of my best friends here, so hugging? I'm all for it.

"Bumblebee," I say when he finally lets me go, "this is a colleague of mine, Catherine Hancock."

"Hi," the blond holoform smiles, reaching out and taking her hand. "I'm Bumblebee. Nice to meet you. Are you a doctor?"

"Hello, Bumblebee," she replies. "It's good meeting you, and yes, I am. I trained as an emergency medical specialist before I joined the Air Force as a medic. Now I'm the Sexual Assault Response Coordinator."

Bumblebee's eyes dart to me at that, and a little worried frown appears on his face. "Isobel?"

"Nothing's wrong, Bee," I reassure him. "You really think, with one or more Autobots in my immediate vicinity for almost the full twenty-four hours of the day, that anyone would be able to do such a thing to me?"

"You've got a point," he says, and the grin's back. "Well, come on, ladies. Gaming night waits for no mech or femme." He opens the doors for us, and I get into the back seat.

Bumblebee gets into his own front seat. "So, everyone's over in the main hangar. We'll be there in a couple of minutes."

"A couple of minutes?" doctor Hancock says, raising her eyebrows. "How do you figure – oh!"

I'm already holding on to whatever seems to work, mindful of the way First Aid reacted when I touched parts of him. Thankfully, it doesn't seem like Bumblebee's seats are especially sensitive.

"Told you he was fast," I giggle.

"You did," she confirms, leaning back with a death-grip on her seat. "It's quite different to experience it first-hand. Are you all this fast?"

"Pit, no," Bumblebee chuckles. "Me and the twins and Jazz are fast, and Blue, Prowl, Red Alert, Wheeljack. Most of the rest are somewhat slower. Trailbreaker is an absolute snail. Some of us even have stationary alt modes, like Blaster."

"So many names," she breathes, still staring at the road with wide eyes. "How many of you are there?"

"You'll see in a moment," he promises, before drifting to a stop in front of the main hangar.

I squeal and hold on for dear life, only letting go when he's well and truly standing still.

"Bumblebee," I threaten, "I love you, but if you ever do that again with me inside I'm going to have Ratchet reformat you into a golf cart."

"Oops, sorry, ladies," he grins, not looking sorry at all. "Well, we're here."

His holoform vanishes as we get out of the car. The sounds of transformation come from behind us, and Bumblebee overtakes us in his root mode.

"Holy shite," Catherine Hancock breathes, staring up at him with wide excited eyes.

I can recognize the look. It's not that long since I wore it. "You should see some of the others," I giggle, taking her arm. "Bumblebee's actually one of the smaller ones."

"I'm plenty big enough," he chuckles, opening the hangar door for us. "And you know, good things come in small packages. Ladies," he bends down, swoops up one of us in each hand, "welcome to Autobot gaming night."

* * *

_Watching Catherine connect with the Autobots was a blast. I'm fairly sure I reacted the same way a lot, back when I first met them; from the staring at the immense size of Skyfire, to the patient confusion that comes with talking to Bluestreak for any length of time, to frantically looking anywhere else when Sideswipe and Sunstreaker demonstrated just how fond they are of each other._

_The main difference is that she met most of them in root mode. Only Bumblebee and Blurr transformed to hang with us in holoform, and that was interesting, too, because at some point both Blurr and I were in Wheeljack's lap, while Bumblebee was sitting next to us on Trailbreaker's leg, with Catherine, talking her through the roster. It was sort of like a transformer group hug._

_Blurr is an absolute sweetheart. When he slows down enough that I can understand him, anyway. He says he wants to take me drag racing, and that we can use the airstrip outside. I'm not sure what First Aid's going to think of that, but I want to try. Blurr can apparently outrun a supersonic jet, which would be a once in a lifetime experience for me._

_I had my first session with Silverbolt tonight, too. He's so young! It's interesting, because with many of the Autobots I'm working with I'm dealing with war injuries, classic PTSD symptoms and the like. But with Silverbolt, it's more of a 'how do I handle this thing that I've been thrust into'-situation. He's feeling his way, trying to figure out what he's supposed to do, how he's supposed to lead his team, what is expected of him._

_Plus, turns out he's scared of heights. I can't really relate to that – it's kind of like if I were to be afraid of walking, or Bumblebee were to be afraid of traffic._

_I think Silverbolt's in for another couple of sessions, at least._

_First Aid's on duty again tonight, and the next couple of nights as well. It's okay though. I saw Optimus and Ratchet today, and whatever they did on their night out (and I am not going to speculate on the facts) did them a lot of good. I can spare my Protectobot for the next few nights if that's the return for it._

_Streetwise let slip something, though. I think they're planning to kidnap me on Friday to recharge with them._

_Heh. Sleep. I mean sleep. God, they're rubbing off on me._

_Anyway. Apparently, there actually is such a thing as a Protectobot cuddle-pile. And since First Aid's on duty, his brothers think it's their duty to make sure that I'm not lonely. Which is cute, but if they're actually serious I hope they're quiet and still sleepers. I don't want to be squished under someone's leg or something._

_I think I'll ask First Aid about that too. If he thinks it's okay, I probably won't be squished. He's still ridiculously happy that I've made up with Hot Spot, so I think he'll be okay with anything that involves me hanging out with the Protectobots and doesn't mean injuries and the like for me. So he'll probably be fine with it as long as none of them move a lot in their recharge._

_I don't think any of them wants me to be squished. Which, you know, progress._

_It's nice to have a family again._

* * *

Friday morning comes, and as per what has come to be her habit, Parker Jamieson's waiting for me when I arrive in my office. At least I wasn't late this time.

"Good morning," I greet her, not really expecting an answer. "Are these the files?"

"Yes," she replies, handing me the thick stack of paper work. "More on the same court case as last time, and mandatory psych evaluations and recordings from a team that was just extracted from Iraq. How soon can you be done?"

"How soon do you need them?" I counter. I'll work through the weekend if I have to, but I do have regular office hours for this kind of thing.

"The court case is urgent, I would appreciate having that by Tuesday. The rest by the seventeenth."

That gives me just over a week.

Also, she would appreciate? Maybe Parker Jamieson is finally mellowing up. This is the most polite she's been to me since I got here – which is weird, considering how much I've been pushing her.

Maybe a change of tactics is needed from here on out, to keep up the progress. I really don't want to push her back to being hostile again, that would be really counterproductive.

"I can manage that," I nod. "Come by on Tuesday, I'll have it ready for you." I smile at her. "Court case documentation always comes at the last minute, doesn't it? Good thing the weather report for the weekend is ghastly."

"…yes," she says, eyeing me warily.

"Got any plans for the weekend?" I try, fully expecting her to bite my nose off and stomp out. But she seems hesitant to leave, for some reason.

So she makes conversation. "I'm taking my dog to training camp," she replies cautiously. "We're working towards getting him certified as a service dog."

"Oh, you have a dog? What kind?" I'm onto her now, though. I wonder what it is she's so reluctant to leave for?

"Irish wolfhound. His name's Fergus."

My eyebrows climb. "Irish wolfhound? Won't he be a bit big for a service dog?"

And then she smiles, the first true smile I've seen on her face yet. "He's huge. But he's well-suited."

"Cool," I smile back. "What kind of service?"

"Right up your alley, actually," she replies. "For people with PTSD."

The way that smile fades… I have a feeling she's getting him trained for herself.

Just how many pieces does this Parker puzzle have?

"Well, sounds like a good way to spend the weekend," I nod, trying to get the conversation back on track. "Better than paperwork."

"Yeah, I bet," she replies, and now she's smiling again. Faintly, but it's there. "At least I'll get off base for a while. It's been a –"

I don't get to find out what she was going to say, because suddenly my office door's thrown open and an irate Amos Vale bursts into my office.

So that's why she wouldn't leave. She probably knew he wasn't in his office, where he was supposed to be.

"You," he sneers, looking at me. "You did this, didn't you?"

I raise an eyebrow at him coolly. "Hello, doctor Vale. You're going to have to be more specific."

He stares at me. Yes, I did have the gall to talk back at you, you evil prick.

But instead of unleashing it all on me, he turns to Parker.

And everything is suddenly so much clearer.

The way he looks at her, the way she's fading in on herself in front of him…

No wonder she won't talk to me about him. Whatever he's been doing to her, he's still doing it. She's terrified of him.

"Sergeant Jamieson," Vale smirks, and the change in his demeanor from when he was talking to me is downright scary. "How nice to see you here. Making friends with our resident troublemaker?" A pale hand moves to cup her cheek, a thumb rubbing across her lips. "Why don't you run along," he purrs, but there's nothing seductive there. I can see Parker's eyes widening, her hands are fists and she's shivering, "I know those pretty legs of yours can run. Go on. I've got business of a personal nature with the good doctor. I'll see you later." Vale places his other hand against the crotch of her pants, still smirking, and I'm so furious I can barely see straight.

Parker flinches, though, looking from him to me and back rapidly, swallowing. "Wouldn't you rather," she begins, her voice breaking halfway through. "Wouldn't you rather come with me now?"

"Vale, you are going to get out, and Parker, you're staying here," I snarl. I can't believe she's trying to get him away from me, but I'm not letting her take the fall for this. By the look of things, she's been through enough from this piece of slime.

"Hardly," he chuckles, pinching Parker's jaw between his fingers. He's not being gentle – she'll be lucky if it doesn't leave bruises. "I have something to discuss with you, doctor." The hand on Parker's crotch squeezes.

And before I make a conscious decision to do so, I've left my desk behind and moved in to pull at the bastard's arm. "You let her go, you piece of shit," I shout.

Doctor Vale, ever so casually, pulls himself loose and backhands me across the face, hard enough to send me crashing head-first into the wall.

My head is spinning. I manage to get to my feet again, feel the trickle of blood running down my chin from my split lip.

At least he let Parker go. She's moving to the door as quickly as she dares, it seems.

Vale glares after her, sending her running. As she leaves, he snorts, shakes his head, and walks over to lock the door.

Then he turns back to me. I have a brief moment to wish that I'd called someone here before charging him and wondering if that look on his face means he's going to rape me or beat me up or both before he's on me.

"You little piece of trash," he snarls, pressing his body against mine and forcing me back against the wall. "Siccing the SARC on me? I'll show you what happens to pretty little cunts who get ideas beyond their station!"

He's warm, and strong, and everything about this is horrible. I can't push him off, he's got me pinned, and when he rips my shirt open and I try to scream he pushes his lower arm against my mouth.

So I bite him. As hard as I can. He pulls his arm away with a curse and hits me again, throwing me to the floor. My head smacks against the wooden surface hard enough to bounce.

That warm weight presses into me again, and this time I scream. I scream and twist and fight as much as I'm capable of, but he's got a hold of my wrists, and when his knee forces mine apart there's nothing I can do.

"Please," I whimper, "please stop."

"Not so cocky now, are you, you little bitch," he snarls. "Little bitch, messing with things she should stay well out of. I'm going to show you about the only thing you're good for."

As he starts tugging on my pants, I begin screaming again, twisting and struggling. It doesn't help. He's still holding me down, one hand on my wrists and one pulling on the lining of my pants, his hot breath across my face, that hard heat pressing against my hip, his legs locking mine down. He's bigger than me, heavier, stronger, and nothing works, nothing helps.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can't bear looking.

Doesn't stop the tears, though.

"That's it, little cunt," he growls, pressing that hard heat up against me and pulling at my jeans. "I'll show you. Bet you're tight, aren't you, little slut, bet you're as blonde down there as up here, bet you need this as much as I do." My pants slide down, the buttons and lining giving way and coming apart, and the hand that was pulling at my clothes is suddenly inside my underwear.

"Isobel!"

"You _bastard_!"

And then, suddenly, the weight is gone, ripped off me so abruptly that it hurts my wrists and stings against the soft surfaces between my thighs. I manage to open my eyes, and see the most beautiful sight in the universe – Blades's furious holoform, holding Vale by his throat, pressing him up against the wall with one hand, the other hand aiming a gun at his head.

"Move," Blades snarls. "Move, I dare you, you piece of slag. Please move."

Vale doesn't. He just stares.

Warm fingers move against my face then, and I look away from my avenging angel to find Streetwise looking at me, concerned and angry.

"Don't move," he cautions. "Ratchet and First Aid are on the way."

"The door," I manage to whisper. "He locked the door."

"I'll get it," he nods, and as he gets up I look at Blades again. They haven't moved, either of them.

As soon as Streetwise unlocks the door, Ratchet barges in. He looks thunderously angry, and I suddenly understand why he's to be feared.

Not by me, though. But I hope Vale is quivering in his boots.

Behind him, I can see Parker Jamieson looking around the doorjamb. She looks how I feel.

"Streetwise, Blades, get that piece of filth out of here," Ratchet orders as he kneels down. "We don't have the authority to put him in the brig, so lock him in his office and make sure he doesn't leave."

"Yes, Ratchet," Steetwise says, sounding as furious as he looks. It doesn't seem like Blades wants to obey, but after a bit of silent discussion they manhandle Vale out between them, not gently at all.

And I start sobbing. I can't help it. Part of my mind – the detached, professional part – claims that this is a delayed shock reaction.

The rest of me just grabs hold of Ratchet and won't let go.

"Oh, sparklet," he sighs, one hand gently probing at my face and the back of my head. "I'm so sorry. We won't let him get close to anyone ever again, I promise. I need to know you're not hurt, okay?" A bright light shines into my eyes. "Did they get to him before he actually-"

"Isobel!"

First Aid.

I reach for him, and he picks me up, cradling me against his chest.

"She's undamaged," I hear Ratchet murmur. "That cheek will bruise, and she's got a bump at the back of her head, but I don't think he did anything physically worse, and the cut lip should heal on its own. Get her out of here."

"Wait," I mumble into First Aid's shirt as he stands up and starts walking towards the door. "Aid, put me down."

"Are you sure, love?" He sounds concerned, but he puts me back on my feet. I don't let go of him, though, holding on to his arm with one hand while I try to wipe my face clean with the other. I won't leave my office looking like a victim, I just won't.

Ratchet wordlessly hands me a tissue.

"Thanks," I reply quietly. "Ratchet, can you comm Bumblebee, have him find Catherine Hancock? And bring him to wherever Aid's taking me?"

"The Protectobot hangar," First Aid supplies. He sounds grim. "We'll keep her there until further notice."

Normally I would chafe a bit at being babied like that. But these aren't normal circumstances.

I start walking, but my legs are too wobbly. If First Aid hadn't been holding me I would have gone to my knees.

Long fingers touch my chin softly. "I know what you're doing," First Aid says quietly, ducking his head until I look into his eyes. "Compromise? Let me carry you, but don't lean into me quite that much?"

I can only nod. It's not like I'm getting anywhere under my own power.

And it feels safe, being carried by First Aid.

"Isobel, I'm so sorry!" Parker Jamieson falls into step next to us as First Aid carries me out the door. "I should have kept him away, I should have gotten them sooner, I should-"

"This is not your fault," I cut her off, as firmly as I can manage. "There's only one person at fault here, and he's hopefully being sat on by a very heavy Autobot at this point."

"Come with us," a new voice says, and Groove walks up next to Parker, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You look like you could use a break, too. Come with us. I make mean hot chocolate."

Parker nods, and they fall in behind us as First Aid carries me towards the Protectobot hangar. As we enter the darkened building, I let my head lean against his shoulder. I'm suddenly insanely tired, and the professional part of my mind insists it's because the adrenaline is fading away. Which is probably true. I feel like I could sleep for a week, but I can't do so yet. I have to talk to Catherine first.

First Aid walks towards the Protectobots' human-sized game corner. Instead of putting me down, he sits down with me, pulling a quilt over the both of us. Groove guides Parker over to sit next to us.

I catch her eyes again. "Not your fault," I repeat, reaching out to take her hand. "Okay? Not your fault."

Streetwise walks over then, with Catherine Hancock and an upset-looking Bumblebee in tow.

"Where's the miserable excuse for a human being?" First Aid growls, and I have never, ever, heard him this angry.

"Left him in Ironhide's tender care," Streetwise replies, pulling up a chair. "I know I should hope he survives to be convicted, but I'm sort of hoping 'Hide shoots him. Primus knows he was furious enough."

The looks he exchanges with the other mechs tell me he's not the only one who's hoping that Ironhide's temper will get the better of him. And that says a lot about how this has affected my mechs – these are the Protectobots, for Pete's sake. They defend humans.

Except this one, apparently. Then again, he's not worthy of their protection.

"Isobel," Catherine says, and I recognize the tone. It's the 'I'm going to ask you to talk about something difficult, I know it's hard but we need it to move forward'-tone. I've used it often enough. "What happened?"

So I steel myself. I want to get all of this out in one go, so I'm mostly done. I try to make it as clinical, as matter-of-fact, as detached as I can, mainly so First Aid doesn't get too upset. At this point, I just want to get it over with.

Suddenly I can understand why so many of his victims wouldn't talk to me. I'd rather forget this than relive it.

That's not an option, though. Not this time. Vale is going to get what's coming to him now.

"I want to report two counts of sexual assault," I begin without preamble. "One against myself and one against Technical Sergeant Parker Jamieson here."

While I explain, Bumblebee's frown grows until he looks livid. First Aid's pulling me close, and I can hear a quiet growl from somewhere deep in his chest.

Catherine just nods and keeps taking notes. "I'll need you to fill in the proper forms, of course," she says, still looking at her notebook. "But you know that."

Bumblebee shuffles forward to lean his head against my quilt-covered leg. "I thought you said this couldn't happen when you were surrounded by Autobots," he mumbles, and he sounds utterly heartbroken.

"He found a way," I reply, quietly, stroking his soft hair. "Nobody's fault but his. He was very angry with me." It's strange, being the one who has to comfort him, but for some reason it helps.

"I…" Parker begins, then has to stop to clear her throat. "I need to report seventeen counts of sexual assault and multiple counts of sexual harassment."

I stare. Catherine stares. Heck, everyone stares, as Parker Jamieson shrinks down into herself, looking down at her hands.

Seventeen counts?

How is this man not in prison already?

Bumblebee recovers first. He moves up to sit next to her on the sofa, taking hold of her other hand. Streetwise is next, digging out another quilt to put around her, and suddenly those of us who are human are cradling mugs of steaming hot chocolate. I look up at Groove thankfully, taking tiny, warming sips of the sweet liquid. He does make a mean hot chocolate.

"If you want," Catherine says carefully, "I can record this. Then you'd only have to relive it once. Do you want us to find a private room? I'm sure the Protectobots wouldn't mind."

"No." She shakes her head. "I… I want to stay here." Brown eyes dart fearful looks around at the Autobots. "I feel… safer, here."

It's a heck of a turnaround, for someone who didn't think mechanical beings needed therapy. But no one can look at Bumblebee's grief-stricken face and not believe they're as sentient, as empathetic, as we are. Still, it must have taken a lot of courage for her to go get Blades and Streetwise when Vale locked the door behind her.

I'm coming to realize that Parker Jamieson is one of the bravest and strongest individuals I've ever met.

She looks small, and young, and scared. Pale hands are cradling the mug as if it's some form of lifeline. Bumblebee slides imperceptibly closer, and I know what that comforting body heat feels like. The tension doesn't quite bleed out of her shoulders, but when Streetwise walks across the floor and sits down in front of her, leaning up against her legs, she draws a deep, stuttering breath.

"At your own time," Catherine says quietly, activating her recorder.

So we sit there, and we listen, as Parker tells of the last five years with Amos Vale. The first three as his attending officer, kind of like she's working with me now. The early respect, the beginning unexpected attraction that turned into fear and distrust. Of late shifts that turned into late nights, and meals that turned into dates that turned into pressure. Of him not taking no for an answer.

The first time, when she'd cried herself to sleep for a week afterwards.

The worst time, when she'd had to seek medical attention because the bleeding didn't stop.

Of the psychological pressure. Never thinking she would be able to escape. Losing sight of her own self-worth. Of letting him hunt her down, again and again, because she'd been conditioned to believe that no one else would have her.

I'm not surprised at the tears running down my face. I'm surprised that she's even gotten through this alive and moderately functional.

"This is more than enough to build a criminal case," Catherine says at last, turning her recorder off. "If convicted, he's facing years in prison." She stretches out a hand, puts it on Parker's knee carefully. "Thank you for telling me this."

Parker just nods, still not looking up. Her hot chocolate is untouched.

"I'm placing the both of you on medical leave, starting immediately," Catherine continues, standing up. "And effective until further notice. Isobel, you know what kind of reactions to expect as well as I do. I will keep you both updated."

"Thanks, Cath," I reply quietly. She nods at the both of us before walking away.

There's a particular quality to the silence afterwards. Like it's potent, somehow, harboring something bad.

I'm still crying, but I can't help noticing that Parker's yet to fell a tear. And that's not good.

Inspiration hits. I lean closer to her. "Parker, is your dog on base? Do you want us to go get him?"

She looks up then, finally, and gives me a tiny nod.

"I'll ask Alice," Groove says, getting up and walking towards their office of sorts.

The silence descends again. It's a heavy, almost physical thing. I snuggle in closer to First Aid, and he in turn tightens his hold on me and nuzzles at my hair.

After a small eternity, the silence is broken by Alice Decker, walking in with something the size of a pony. The dog – it has to be a dog, that is what Parker said she owned – is pulling at the lead, and Alice lets him go when she sees Parker in the sofa. Of course, the giant beast comes running, leaping into the sofa and placing himself on his mistress's lap. And since there's so much of him, both me and Bumblebee end up with a lapful of grey wolfhound.

And Parker finally begins crying.

It's a silent thing, shoulders shaking in quiet sobs, face pressed against grey fur. Bumblebee slowly, carefully, begins rubbing her back.

* * *

We sit there in silence the rest of the day. Alice stayed, offering silent companionship, sitting next to Streetwise on the floor in front of Parker's feet. At one point, Hot Spot comes in with food for the three of us and a change of clothes for me. I'd forgotten that my shirt and pants are still torn to pieces.

When the light begins to fade from the windows, First Aid stirs. "I have the medbay, love," he says, pressing a regretful kiss to my forehead. "Will you be okay? I can ask Ratchet for some personal time, or trade with Hoist…"

"It's okay," I murmur, snuggling in against his throat. "I'm okay, Aid. I won't be alone."

"Good," he replies against my hair. "Don't hesitate to comm me at any point, okay? Even if it's for nothing."

I giggle at that, and the sound breaks the spell somehow. Everyone moves slightly again. "I will. Love you." I lean in to kiss him. It's chaste, sweet, soft, comforting, and then he's gone.

Of course, since I was on his lap, when he vanishes I drop down on the sofa and bounce. It almost throws me down to the floor, and it dislodges the close snuggling of the dog on my lap. I get the most surprised look I've ever seen on an animal from that big grey pile of fluff.

Alice and Parker are staring at me, too, the same look of surprise on their faces.

"… are you two together?" Alice asks, wide-eyed.

I guess First Aid and I weren't as public as I thought.

Streetwise twists to stare at her. "You didn't know? You've spent over a month with us, and you didn't _notice_?"

"Not everyone can be as perceptive as you," she snarks back, and Hot Spot chuckles.

"First Aid spends every night in Isobel's bed as a holoform, when he doesn't have duty, and you never wondered why he doesn't recharge with the rest of us?"

She shrugs defensively. "He said he preferred spending the nights in his alt mode! How was I to know?"

"Course he prefers that," Streetwise snorts. "Lets him be with her, doesn't it?"

"You're really together?" Parker asks. She still hasn't gotten the volume back in her voice, but she's participating, at least. And the way her hands are moving on that grey fur gives me some hope. So does the way she seems to accept Bumblebee's comforting arm, leaning into it gratefully.

She might be okay. We might all be okay, here.

"First Aid and I have been together since November," I confirm with a smile. "It's unorthodox, sure, but what isn't, these days?"

"I guess," she nods. "It's just… I didn't expect that."

"I didn't expect this," Bumblebee says, looking down at the dog in his lap. "What is this, anyway?"

And there's the smile again. This dog really is her lifeline.

"This is Fergus," she replies. "He's a four year old Irish Wolfhound. And he's my happy chappy, aren't you?"

I have to dodge the furiously wagging tail.

"Isobel, are you staying here tonight?" Groove asks.

I nod. "Please. I know you planned to kidnap me anyway, and I really, really do not want to be alone tonight."

Parker pulls in on herself slightly again. Streetwise notices, of course. That mech notices everything.

"You can stay here too, if you want to," he offers. "I know you don't know us very well, but you're very welcome."

Parker, surprisingly, looks at me.

"It's safe," I whisper, finding her hand and squeezing it. "They're safe. I promise."

She hesitates, then nods softly. "I'd like that. Thank you."

"No problem," Groove smiles. "Bee?"

"I've got night duty," he explains, shaking his head. Then he blinks. "Or, I did. Now I'm apparently on leave."

Hot Spot chuckles. "Ratchet?"

Bumblebee grins. "You'd think so, right? But no. Prowl."

"Prowl likes Isobel," Groove puts in, as if that explains everything. And perhaps it does.

* * *

_In the end, it's one giant Protectobot pile minus First Aid, but with Bumblebee to make up for it. Parker freaked for a moment as they transformed, but Bee managed to calm her down again. Alice stayed, too, she's snuggled up against Streetwise's plating._

_Blades came in when everyone was getting settled. He transformed for a moment, giving me the biggest hug I've gotten here yet, before letting me go to transform back and join the cuddle-pile. He made sure to keep his rotors pointed away from any humans._

_Parker's curled up inside a mound of blankets, Bumblebee on one side and Fergus on the other. She relaxes as soon as she has the dog close by. I can see why she wants him certified so she can bring him everywhere with her._

_I'm writing this nestled in between Hot Spot's hand and Groove's abdominal plating, like I'm cradled there. It's not soft, even with the added quilts, but it's warm, and safe, and home._

_Yeah. I think we'll be okay._


	25. You make me smile with my heart

_It's been a helluva couple of days._

_Parker Jamieson hasn't left the hangar yet. Neither have I, for that matter, but I'm staying for different reasons._ _Her… I don't think she knows what to do with herself. The first few days, she tried to put that stern mask of hers back on, but she couldn't do it. It's like, now that she's told someone, the façade has cracks in it. She'll trigger at any moment, for the strangest things… Yesterday, for instance; she was helping Groove pick up around the couch area, moderately happy at one moment and broken down in tears the next, holding an empty coffee cup._

_It's all painstakingly, heartbreakingly familiar. At least she reacts with tears and not violence, like Jeremy did._

_I'm glad I have the rest of the Protectobots, and Bumblebee most of the time, to help keep an eye on her. She's not fit to be left to her own devices._

_Compared to her, I'm doing fine._

_Oh, I have the indicators too. Difficulty eating and sleeping. Waking up from nightmares I can't remember when I do sleep. Freaking out if I feel trapped._

_Aversion to being touched._

_First Aid's working on that one, though. He found a very creative solution. Shame it's not available to anyone else in the world._

* * *

"I love you," First Aid whispers.

I arch into his touch, trying to be as silent as possible. The berth area at the corner of the Protectobot hangar isn't exactly private, though it's as withdrawn as possible from the main areas. First Aid's shielding me with his body, but that won't help if I start vocalizing.

"Love you too," I whisper back.

"This okay?"

The ghosting touch of a giant metal finger down my side has me trembling. I just nod, I can't open my mouth right now. And then the finger scoots down the inside of my thigh, making me gasp.

This is amazing. Aid's got some sort of pulsing in his fingers, I'm not sure what it is but he says it helps him when he's treating patients. All I know is, it turns his fingers into the giant alien version of a Womanizer. And it reduces me to a puddle of purring sensation.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers. The finger moves up my other leg, across my lower stomach. Aid is exploring.

The talking helps, too. First Aid never says anything vulgar, related to what we're doing. Not like – him. Instead, it's endless compliments, constant reassurance, always telling me he loves me. Treating me like a treasure, absorbing my every reaction and moving away from what's too raw still.

He's doing a very good job of getting me past this.

I moan, the noise not entirely silenced, as the finger slides slowly down my stomach. For the first time since it happened, I spread my legs to give him access.

"Are you sure, love?" he asks, finger pausing to caress the sensitive area across my hip.

"I'm sure," I whisper, turning my head to look up at him. "I want you."

"My brave, beautiful Isobel," he croons, letting the finger move down my pelvis. He takes his time, circling the more sensitive areas at first, gently moving from the inside of one leg to the other.

It's beyond frustrating and soon has me raising my hips to encourage him. That's something else I haven't done since it happened.

"So gorgeous," he murmurs, finally placing his finger where I want it. "Pit, you're breathtaking, Isobel."

I moan again, quietly, pressing against him.

The finger's really too big to do much. But that pulse, oh my God, it goes straight to every sensitive nerve cluster I have. And First Aid uses it _expertly_.

When I tense and arch almost off the bed as I come, his finger moves away and the entire hand curves around me. I snuggle into the warm plating gratefully.

"I'm so glad I have an alien robot lover," I mumble, nuzzling at his fingertips. "I love you, Aid."

"I love you too, Isobel," he whispers. He slides a blanket across my body, swathing me from top to toe. "Sleep, love. I'm not going anywhere."

I lean into that loving touch and do as he says.

* * *

_It's a bubble, in here. I'm not sure what's going on outside. I don't care right now._

_Optimus and Ratchet came by yesterday. They were in their holoforms, to not scare Parker. The way she stared at them, though, she was at least unnerved._

_I have several sessions a day with her now. Though sessions might be too strong a word. We talk. Sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for half an hour. I listen if she needs to talk, and answer questions if she has any._

_She's going to need a lot of time._

_Catherine came by, too, to let us know how things were going. Vale's left the base, apparently under his own free will, and the whole thing's become a police investigation now as well as an internal army case. Top commanders have descended on the base in the last few days and the whole administration is under scrutiny. Catherine thinks they're digging to see why he was allowed to be at this for so long._

_I was extra glad to be hiding with the Protectobots when I heard about that. I don't really feel like being examined to such a degree._

_On the good side (and I'm making this as a bullet point list, to sum things up in my head. I'm making Parker do the same thing, sometimes it helps to make such a visible illustration of the good things):_

\- _Parker no longer hates me_

\- _First Aid loves me to bits_

\- _Hot Spot is fast becoming one of my best friends_

\- _Bumblebee is actually befriending Parker Jamieson, and I never would have seen that coming if I lived as long as First Aid_

\- _Ratchet and Optimus are openly affectionate and absolutely adorable together_

\- _This, too, shall pass. I'm going to get past this. It's getting better every day._

_Parker's list is shorter than mine. But it's growing. She had a longer list of negatives to start with._

_Got to go. Groove wants to watch a movie. We've been keeping it light, easy, trying to avoid anything that might be a trigger. Yesterday we watched Lilo &Stitch, and I've never seen Groove laugh so hard. And it turned out that Parker and Alice had never seen Spirited Away, so tonight is anime night. It should be trigger-free._

* * *

I wake up from the soft slide of fingers across my cheek. I'm still comfortably warm, can feel the hum of living mechanical systems beneath my back. It's safe. So I open my eyes.

First Aid's holoform is smiling at me. "Happy Valentine's day, love."

I giggle sleepily. "It's Valentine's day? Happy Valentine's day, then." I stretch, sitting up from my little hollow of Autobot plating. Hot Spot has this perfectly shaped hollow on his back, I've been spending more than one night there.

"I've got you breakfast," First Aid says, kissing my forehead. "Would you be up to spending the day with me today?"

That means going outside, I can tell. And it makes me a little nervous.

But this is First Aid. Kind, caring, considerate, loving First Aid, who's been handling me as if I was made of fragile crystal and who knows me better than anyone else ever has, who I trust with my everything. If I can't go outside with him, I'll never be able to leave the hangar.

"Yeah, okay," I whisper. "Did you have something special in mind?"

First Aid bends and scoops me up into his arms, making me giggle. "I did. I was hoping you'd accept, so I took the liberty of planning the whole day. Don't worry, it's less intense than it sounds."

I lean in to kiss him. "You know I love you, right?"

"Heh. I can hardly believe it sometimes, but yeah. I know." I'm rewarded with a brilliant smile and a warm look under those long eyelashes, and I'm putty in his hands.

First Aid gets us down from Hot Spot's still recharging form without ever putting me down, somehow. He deposits me in the sofa, fetching me the food he'd gotten from the mess hall and a perfect hot chocolate.

Apparently, I'm being spoiled and pampered today. I'm feeling the first hints of excited butterflies in my stomach.

"Morning," Parker says, coming up behind me and yawning. "Room service today?"

"It's Valentine's day," First Aid explains with an easy smile. "Sit down, Parker, I happen to know food is on the way for you, too."

She sits down, but she looks nervous. I reach over to touch her hand. "Don't worry. No one's going to make you do anything." I smile, looking down at my own food. "Except, perhaps, eat a better than normal breakfast."

"Well, I can do that," she says with a small smile.

"Good," Bumblebee said from behind us. "Because I brought you a choice selection."

He moves easily around the sofa, bending to place a tray on Parker's lap. "Breakfast is served." Then he glides backwards with an elegant bow.

I stare. Bumblebee's on rollerblades today.

"Um," I say around a mouthful of chicken sandwich. "What's with the new accessories?"

He shrugs. "Arcee dared me to try. Apparently, it's considered a thing in California to rollerblade almost naked."

I just about choke on my food, laughing so hard that I have to fight not to spray it everywhere. Parker's collapsed in helpless giggles.

"Maybe if you're on the beach," she manages to force out when she can breathe again. "Most normal folk wear clothes, you know. And protective gear."

"I don't need protective gear, I'm a holoform," he points out.

"But people watch you," I point out as I swallow. "You might want to set a good example."

"I guess." He unfocuses for a moment, then frowns down at himself as the elbow and knee pads, wrist guards and helmet appears. "Doesn't look as cool, though."

"Safe is cool," Streetwise says as he walks past us in root mode. "I'm heading out, got a shift in five. You lot have fun today."

Parker looks from him to Bumblebee cautiously. "Am I… Are we doing something today too?"

Bumblebee dismisses the skates and gear and sits down next to her. "I had a suggestion. I wanted to ask you if you'd like to go for a drive? You don't ever have to get out of the car, I can transform in here and we can just drive until you don't want to anymore. We can catch a drive-in movie, or get drive-in ice cream, or whatever you want. No pressure, no plans, not even a holoform present if you don't want it to be."

I have to hand it to Bumblebee. That is a brilliant plan, tailored to make Parker comfortable.

"Yeah," Parker says, after hesitating for a moment. "Yeah. I'd like that."

I grin at the triumphant scout.

And then, my attention is stolen quite efficiently by the Protectobot medic kneeling in front of me, with an expectant and eager smile on his face. "Ready to go?"

Oh, I'd follow this one anywhere. I'd go to Cybertron with him if he asked me.

"I'm ready," I reply, putting my plate and mug down and letting him take my hands. "I'm all yours."

The smile I get for that could probably fuel the base for a week.

First Aid's other form drives up, and he picks me up again to carry me over to the car.

"I have legs, you know," I grin, pressing my forehead against his.

First Aid makes a show out of stopping and looking at my legs. "Yes, you do," he confirms. "Prettiest legs I ever saw."

That does it. I'm giggling helplessly until he's got me in the ambulance's driver seat, seatbelt on, with his holoform beside me. First Aid doesn't bother with such a little thing as his own seatbelt, instead straddling the center console and throwing his arms around me. I wave at Bumblebee and Parker as we drive past, First Aid's mouth nuzzling at my cheek.

I think I'm in for a good day.

"So where are you taking me?" I ask lightly, smuggling against him.

"It's a surprise," he smiles against my hair. "Something I've been planning for a while. Since before – well."

He doesn't have to say. I know what he means.

Damned if I'm going to let that ruin my day, though.

First Aid, it seems, still feels the need to reassure me. "I promise I'm not trying to push you into anything, love. I just… you deserve to relax. To have a good time. So I've come up with something I think you'll like."

I twist in his arms to look at him. "I trust you," I reply simply.

It seems to have been the right thing to say, because he kisses me. And it's tender, and loving, and sweet, and all those things that make my heart beat faster and my breathing speed up.

I'm hoping that First Aid is controlling those minor things like speed limits and direction and such. Because I can't focus on anything but him. He's pretty distracting. Even when he's keeping to the unspoken rules of post-assault snuggling.

I catch enough to know that we're on the highway, that's about it. And that the weather seems to be nice.

And that First Aid's going quite a bit faster than legal.

"Um, I think the speed limits are supposed to exist for a reason," I giggle, as his mouth moves across my ear.

"I'm an ambulance," he whispers, and the siren suddenly kicks in. "No one's going to stop me."

And oh my God, authoritative First Aid is _hot_. We're talking sizzling here.

Dimly, I remember something about him saying I should obey commands. The thought is suddenly _very_ tempting.

I never get a chance to explore it, though. Because First Aid makes a left turn suddenly, taking us in on a small dirt road almost hidden in among the trees. I think he slows down, but I'm not sure – I'm not exactly watching the instruments.

Not until First Aid slows down and stops.

Well, the ambulance stops. The holoform doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow down.

"First Aid," I gasp, "did you bring me out here so we could make out in the woods?"

"Sort of," he mumbles against my neck. "There's a little bit more to go, but I have to transform." He pulls away, and I can feel the reluctance.

"Well, did we have to go on just now?" I breathe, letting my hands curl in his hair. "We have the whole day, right?"

First Aid chuckles, and my seat belt loosens. "Yes, we do. What did you have in mind, love?"

"Doing this some more." I use my grip on his hair to pull him up within kissing reach.

He grins. "Whatever you say."

* * *

It's midday before First Aid finally transforms and scoops me up to cradle me against his chest. From here, I can feel the comforting warmth of his systems, and when I press my ear to his plating I imagine I can hear the thrum of his spark. It's similar to the not-quite-a-pulse I can feel from his holoform.

First Aid carries me through the woods. I can see quickly why he couldn't drive any further – this road is barely more than a track, narrow and uneven with big holes here and there. He would have had to be at least a SUV, maybe even a Jeep or something.

Which is probably what happened. "Hound found this place, didn't he?"

"Yeah," my Protectobot replies. "He and Trailbreaker were exploring some weeks back, stumbled across it. It's big and private and beautiful, but it's a bit tricky to get there. We're almost there, though." He smiles down at me, visor glinting. "Close your eyes?"

He hasn't asked me to do that since it happened. He knows what I see when I close them. But here, in his hands, the feel of his systems a comfortable lull against my cheek… I have a feeling the usual horrid vision won't be present. There's no way I'm going to feel as though I'm anywhere else, with anyone else.

So I close them. And First Aid's finger caresses my back softly. "Love you, Isobel."

I kiss the hot plating next to my cheek.

I relax in his grip as he walks the last bit through the woods. Then there's wind on me again, and as First Aid turns the sound of his steps change from the soft thud of the dirt road to a harder knock against stone. And I can hear the sound of water.

"It sounds like the ocean," I comment, turning my head towards the noise without opening my eyes.

"Don't open your eyes yet, you'll spoil the surprise," First Aid says, and I can hear the content in his voice. "I'll tell you when."

Another few steps, then a change in sound again as First Aid steps onto a softer surface. He stays on that for a while before ducking, bending over while keeping me cradled against his chest, and there's a hollow quality to the sound suddenly.

"First Aid," I ask, craning my head to get a better impression of the sound. "Where are we?"

"Just wait, love." A finger touches my cheek comfortingly. "Soon."

The hollow sound changes, but doesn't go away. It doesn't sound like we're in a tunnel anymore, but it still echoes. I can hear the water still, but that's different too.

First Aid chuckles as I squirm in his grip. "I'm going to put you down for a moment, okay? I need to do something."

I nod eagerly. "Okay."

I might not open my eyes. That doesn't stop me from trying to figure this out.

The ground under my feet feels like sand, it gives and shifts around me. And the water is in front of me, somehow, a steady trickle. I can hear First Aid doing something over to my right, the noises his frame make a comfort even from a distance.

I hear the sounds of transformation, and then some more movement. After a moment, it quietens.

"Isobel, I'm coming over to you now," First Aid says, and I don't know how he knows not to surprise me when I've got my eyes closed like this, but he does. It makes me really grateful.

He takes my hand, and I let myself be tugged along.

"You ready?" First Aid whispers, and I nod eagerly. Yes please, I'm very ready.

"Then open your eyes, love."

So I do. And blink. First against the light, and then, once my eyes are accustomed to the sun again, at the view.

Because it is truly spectacular.

"This is magnificent," I breathe, trying to take it all in.

We're inside a cave of some sort, except there's no roof. I can see the sky. In front of me, there's a small pond, fed by a small brook that seems to have its source inside the rock face. The pond is ringed in sand and tiny pebbles.

On one side of it, First Aid's alt mode is standing. And in front of it, there seems to be a picnic.

At least, I think that's what it is. There's a blanket. A basket. Cushions. There's even a bottle of wine and a single glass.

First Aid puts an arm around me, then bends down and picks me up easily.

"Legs?" I remind him.

"Indulge me," he grins. "I love being able to carry you in my arms like this. Makes me feel like I can keep you safe."

Well, when he puts it like that…

First Aid puts me carefully down on the blanket and pours me a glass of wine. "I even brought a towel in case you wanted to try the pond," he smiles, and that look on his face tells me exactly how much he would like to see me in a swimsuit. Or naked in the pond, rather, since he didn't actually say he brought a swimsuit.

There's no way I'm skinny-dipping in February, though. Not in this hemisphere. "No thanks. I don't do cold water."

"Chilled wine, then," he says, handing me the glass. "And warm lunch?"

I sip at the wine, but shake my head at the food. "Can we wait a while? I'm not hungry yet."

He closes the basket again. "Of course."

For a moment, we just stare at each other.

And then I put my glass down. "This is ridiculous." At his raised eyebrow, I reach for him. "Come here."

First Aid isn't slow to respond. Before I even have time to register the movement, he's laid me back against the thick blanket, hands roving over my body, an endless litany of words flowing from his mouth.

"I've never been so angry in my entire existence," he murmurs. "I could have torn him apart with my own hands. It was a good thing Blades and Streetwise got to you first, because if it had been me, I would have killed him."

Small kisses punctuate his words, his weight pressing against me. I can feel my heartrate going up, and not for the good reasons.

"Isobel. Hey, look at me."

I open my eyes again. I hadn't realized that I had closed them.

First Aid's looking at me intently. I could just drown in those eyes.

"It's me," he says softly. "If at any time you're uncomfortable, tell me to stop. I want you to feel safe." He lifts his hand to caress my cheek. "I want you to forget him. I want to erase his touch on you and replace it with my own. I want to love you until you feel like yourself again. And if you don't want me to do anything more than kiss you today, then that's what I'll do. But if you want me to do more…" he leans in, presses his forehead against mine. "… I will."

Blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears, I put my hands around his neck and pull him close. "Yes, please," I whimper. "Make me forget him."

* * *

We spend all day there by the pond. And when the sun begins to sink towards the horizon, First Aid packs up our things and takes me through the woods to a small hill top, where we can watch the sunset properly.

I yawn, nuzzle into First Aid's warm plating. He's got me wrapped up in a blanket and is cradling me over his spark.

"Ready to go home?"

"I am home," I reply, cheesy as it is. "I'm with you."

First Aid answers by transforming down to his alt mode, making sure I end up in the driver's seat. His holoform appears next to me, nuzzling at my ear. "Likewise, love." He starts the car up. "Still, I think we should get back to base. Or we'll be missed."

"Sounds nice," I reply, closing my eyes and leaning up against him. "Wake me when we get there."

He chuckles. "All right, love."

I don't actually fall asleep. I end up in some form of light doze, curled up against First Aid's side. I can feel his alt mode vibrating around me, and the comfortable warmth of First Aid's holoform, and if I never have to move again that's fine by me, I can stay right here.

I can't tell when we enter the base, but I pull myself awake when we drive into a very bright space with lots of noise.

"Isobel," First Aid croons. "Wake up, love."

"'M awake," I mumble, sitting up. "Where – oh."

Not the Protectobot hangar. The main hangar, what passes as the Autobot rec room.

"First Aid?"

"I'm sorry, love. They asked that we come by. You've been sorely missed."

"You could have asked me," I grumble, but my heart's not in it. I can't really be upset with First Aid. "Oh, all right. We can stay for a few minutes."

But when First Aid slows to a stop and lets me out, I know it's going to be more than a few minutes. Because I'm immediately surrounded.

"Isobel," Arcee exclaims, throwing her arms around my neck. "Oh, honey, we were so worried about you. Are you – how are you?"

"I'm okay,", I try to say, but I can't get it out before I'm enfolded in another set of arms. Sideswipe pulls me close, holding me tight, and his brother steps in to embrace me from behind until I'm almost squeezed flat between them.

"Say the word, Isobel," Sideswipe swears fiercely. "Say the word, and he's destroyed."

Sunstreaker just holds me, breathing into my hair.

"That's not very Autobot," I begin, but then I'm whirled off to Jazz, and Prowl (and who knew he hugged anyone but Jazz), and Bluestreak, then Wheeljack, Blaster, then the hard metal embraces of Rewind and Eject.

And then Optimus. By then I'm dizzy, and the room is still spinning even though I'm not, and Ratchet's cool hands on my arms are a relief.

"Easy, sparklet," he says softly. "How do you feel?"

I smile and shake my head. "I'm okay." His eyebrows rise, and I nod. "I am. I'm okay."

"Is there anything we can do for you, Isobel?" Optimus asks, letting a hand rest against my back.

"You're doing it," I reply truthfully. "You're being my friends. You're being her friends." I look across the hangar to where Parker Jamieson is sitting with Bumblebee in his root mode. She's simply pressed up against his plating, looking at everyone with wide eyes, while he's talking to Arcee and Blaster's holoforms. I can tell from here that Parker's uneasy about Blaster, but it probably helps that the dark holoform has Arcee leaning into his side.

"I still can't believe the slagger," Ratchet growls, his fingers probing my face and the back of my head. "He's supposed to be a medic. He's supposed to help people! Not harm them!"

"Easy, Ratchet," Optimus says, and the looks they exchange, oh my God, I could just melt. Especially when Optimus lifts a hand to cup his cheek and Ratchet leans into the touch, still with his eyes glued to the Prime.

It looks like these two have had a happy Valentine's day, too.

Optimus turns back to me, pulling me into an embrace. "I am very glad to see you happy again, Isobel," he rumbles. "And rest assured that this Vale will face justice for what he's done."

"You're slagging right he will," Ratchet mutters darkly. "He will face justice one way or the other."

"Ratchet," Optimus says, and this time his tone is reproving. "The humans will handle this."

"I'm just saying," Ratchet shrugs, "that if they don't…"

"I have faith in Catherine," I interject. I won't stand here and be a source of discord between them. "She'll handle this. And then the courts will handle it."

"And if they fail to, it will still be handled," Ratchet mutters under his breath. Optimus frowns at him, but doesn't say anything.

I take each of their hands in mine and squeeze them. "Thanks, mechs. It's so good to know you've got my back."

"Whenever you need us, Isobel," Optimus promises.

I shoot them a smile, then turn to find First Aid. Instead of my Protectobot, though, I'm face to face with Parker and Bee.

"We're going back," Parker says quietly. "I'm – well –"

"You're exhausted," I finish for her. "You're overwhelmed by the crowd. It's okay. There's no one here who doesn't understand that."

"I'm taking her back," Bee says, and I don't miss his hand on Parker's back. I'm not sure what to think about that – on the one hand, Bee's an absolute sweetheart, but on the other, she's deeply traumatized. I don't want her latching on to him, that's not healthy for either one of them.

I nod. "I'm planning to leave myself. I just have to find my wayward mate."

"Oh, he's close by somewhere," Bumblebee grins. "First Aid never strays far from you."

"You two are good together," Parker says quietly, but she's smiling.

Okay, I've changed my mind about her and Bee. It's healthy. Because I've only ever seen that smile when she's talking about her dog.

"He's more than I ever thought I'd have," I reply truthfully. "Now get going, you two. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Bee nods. "Sure thing. Come on, Parker."

I turn away from them and walk in the direction I saw First Aid last. It doesn't take long before I'm interrupted again. I'm not that surprised, everyone seems to want to talk to me tonight.

More than a little surprised that it's Mirage, though.

Seriously. Mirage. He's stopped me in the middle of the floor, in clear view of everyone. Mirage, who's never talked to me in public before – and that movie thing doesn't count, since we were hiding in the dark.

"Hello, Isobel."

I stare. He looks – not embarrassed, but contrite. Ashamed, even. And upset. "Hello, Mirage."

"I – I heard about what happened to you. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. On top of what I've put you through, it's… Are you alright?"

I don't know what to think. "Yeah, I'm alright. Blades and Streetwise got there before any real harm was done."

"No, they didn't," Mirage objects. "The whole incident is real harm done, Isobel. It's just not necessarily physical, and for that I'll always be grateful to your Protectobots."

Huh?

_He'll_ be grateful?

And also, _my_ Protectobots? I have one, not the others. He has to know that, right?

Surely he doesn't think I'm entertaining all five of them? Because that's just - no.

"I was so furious when I heard, I was ready to tear the scoundrel limb from limb," Mirage admits, looking down as if it's something to be ashamed of. "Hound had to restrain me." He looks back up, meeting my eyes. "I hope the bastard will be prosecuted?"

I nod. I'm on firm ground with that at least, even though I'm still reeling that Mirage would come to my defense. "I think so. The evidence is strong."

"Good. That's at least something." He takes a deep breath, exhales. Goes for a smile, though it's nowhere near real. "I won't take up any more of your evening. I just wanted to let you know that I am glad you're alright. Goodnight."

He turns to walk away, and for some reason I can't let him. "Mirage, wait."

He looks back at me guardedly. Does he think I'm angry with him?

Well, yeah, inside I guess I'm still angry with him, but for this? I'm not angry with him for caring.

"Thanks," I say earnestly, reaching out to touch his arm. "I appreciate that."

Now that's a real smile. And I'd forgotten how devilishly handsome Mirage is when he smiles. He's got nothing on First Aid, of course, but he's damn hot.

"What did you mean, though," I ask, and his brow furrows slightly, "when you said 'my Protectobots'?"

He looks confused. "Only that you've found a family in them, Isobel," he replies. "And you deserve that. I know you were alone, before. Now you have more brothers than anyone but a gestalt know what to do with." He smiles again. "You're almost an honorary Protectobot at this point."

Oh good. That meaning I can live with.

"Yeah, you're right. It's nice to have brothers again." I've still got hold of his arm, so I squeeze it gently. "Thanks for talking to me, Mirage. I'll see you around?"

"If you want," he promises, "I'm here. I have a lot to make up for."

I make a split-second decision that I might regret later, but I'm tired of this. I'm tired of being upset with him. This is one complication I can at least let go of. "No, don't worry about that. We're okay, Raj."

"We're okay?" he whispers, looking more hopeful than I'd ever expected.

So I nod. I can't bear to burst his bubble now, and besides… I think we really are okay. "Yeah. Good night, Mirage."

"Good night, Isobel." The words are barely audible, but his smile is radiant, and when I walk on I see him throw himself on his mate exuberantly, which is more emotion than I've ever seen Mirage show in public. More than a few people are staring at them, smirking.

"That was very nice of you," First Aid whispers in my ear as his hands sneak around my waist.

First Aid snuck up on me. And I didn't get scared. My heart didn't even skip a beat.

I grin when I turn in his arms. "Hello, mate of mine." I put my arms around his neck and lean in to kiss him. "Can you take me back to our hangar?"

"Of course," he replies, lips still very close to mine. "'Our' hangar?"

I shrug. "Apparently, I'm an honorary Protectobot now. Except, you know, for the gestalt situation and the bond and the whole 'being another species' thing."

He chuckles, and with us this close together the sound goes straight to my pelvis, lingering there and heating me up.

"Take me back?" I breathe, my hands curling in his hair. "Please?"

Something in my tone or stance must have tipped him off, because he groans and kisses me again, pulling me even closer. I can hear hoots and whistles and someone – sounds like Cliffjumper – telling us to get a room already, but I don't care.

I'm with my Protectobot. And when he picks me up without breaking the kiss, supporting my weight with his arms under my thighs, everything else fades away.

* * *

_Guess where I am._

_I'm curled up in a heap between Blades's rotor blades. I actually am. He's recharging on his stomach, and it turns out that he's got the same little dip in his back plating that Hot Spot does, the one that's just perfect to snuggle into. And since Hot Spot is on the night shift along with First Aid, Blades is stuck with me._

_He was nervous, at first, about me sleeping on his back. I think he's afraid to hurt me somehow. But he is the quietest sleeper among the Protectobots, so I'm not worried. Seriously, he doesn't move a muscle all night. So he's perfectly safe._

_Catherine stopped by earlier. Vale's been interrogated by the police, and they've charged him with multiple counts of sexual assault. He's been fired from his position, he's losing his medical license and he's facing jail time._

_Serves him right. I hope they throw away the key._

_Catherine also said that she's been asked to replace him as base head medic, at least temporarily. It's actually a step down from her current position, which is why they can offer her the job. She's going to accept, too. 'This base needs a female medic right now,' she said. 'I'm going to do my best to eradicate the utter fuck-up that that arse made of things.'_

_I love her accent._

_Parker's still here in the hangar. She's snuggled up against Bumblebee's plating, fast asleep, with Fergus behind her. Somehow, I doubt she's going back to her own room any time soon._

_I might, though. It's not that I don't love being here with my family – and doesn't that feel weird to say – but I'm starting to crave the solitude. There's always someone catering to me here, which is nice and holiday-like, but I have my own space for a reason._

_Part of that reason, right now, is a craving for privacy with a certain Protectobot. I don't see nearly as much of First Aid as I'd like to, which I've become acutely aware of since Valentine's day_ _._

_And I don't mean time-wise. I mean body-wise. My medic is hot. And he completely managed to make me (mostly) forget that bastard's hands on me – to the point where I just want First Aid. All. The. Tme. Everything he does sets me off. I know Groove suspected what I was doing in the shower yesterday besides getting clean._

_I'm hesitant to leave before Parker does, however, so I'll probably stay for a few more days to make sure she's okay – probably until the trip to San Francisco at least. I think, the day she's comfortable enough to let Bumblebee recharge next to her in holoform – or just sleep herself while he's in holoform around her, even if they're on the couch; I'm not going to hope for miracles quite yet – I'll leave. Bee looks like he's gotten her to trust him, so they're getting there, I'm sure._

_Someone else is still here at the hangar too, surprisingly (and amusingly) enough._

_Alice is sleeping next to Streetwise again._

_Apparently, seeing me and First Aid together triggered something. Because – dun dun DUNNN – I saw him kiss her earlier. They were hiding in the corner like kids, and he was so careful and hesitant, and she was blushing faintly, and smiling at him, and he was pretty much walking on air afterwards._

_I'd squee out loud if I wasn't afraid of waking them up. They are so fragging cute! Gah – totally girlish moment there. But seriously. They're adorable. I can't even._

_And Hot Spot's apparently learned from his mistakes. Because he just smiled when he noticed. Or maybe he thinks Streetwise is made from tougher stuff than First Aid._

_I don't mind the difference. I'm just glad that we've made up._

_Ratchet is coming by tomorrow, he wants to clear me for the trip to San Francisco with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. They're leaving in just a few days. I wasn't sure I still wanted to go, but they swung by today and pretty much begged me to come. Prowl's approved the whole thing already, and Jazz and Cliffjumper and Arcee are going too. So I promised I'd go – partly because resisting a pleading Sideswipe just isn't something I'm capable of, and partly because some time away from base might do me good. It's apparently a day trip, at the speed these guys are traveling. Prowl assumes they'll go by the speed limits since his mate is coming along, but that's not happening. (Fat chance, Sideswipe said – the twins are really getting a hang of Earth slang, funnily enough.) Sunstreaker informed me that I was riding with him for the trip up and with Sideswipe for the trip back, and it didn't seem like I had much choice in the matter. That's okay. I like the twins, they're fun. Also, the they have such gorgeous alt modes that the hotness will rub off on me by association, I'm sure. We're going to look good going down the highway._

_Maybe I can get Arcee or Jazz to take a picture, so I can show First Aid. He gets a tiny bit possessive sometimes, and that always leads to a lot of fun._

_I'm going to stop this before my brain (brain, hah – my hormones, more like) comes up with exactly how much fun._


	26. Taken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS for this chapter: violence, angst and torture. This is not a nice chapter, readers.
> 
> This turn of events span out of a prompt I got over at ff.net when this fic had reached a hundred reviews there. The prompter requested Swindle, preferably with Isobel, and first appearances or expectations being deceiving. The prompt plot took over the whole story and had a huge impact on everything. (That's what I get for a dynamic writing style with such loose planning.)
> 
> Anyway, after this there are five more finished chapters before we've caught up to where I'm at writing-wise. After that, the rate of posting will slow down drastically. My goal is a chapter every other Friday, but there will sometimes be delays.  
> I estimate this fic to be... probably less than fifty chapters total. Maybe.

It's damp. And dark. And cold.

I've never encountered a place more fit to be called ominous in my life.

The bars are metal, spaced too close together for me to squeeze between them. There's no light in here – the little illumination there is spills from a doorway at one end of the vast room. So I can see some things, but not much.

I still figure I see more than I'd like.

Hear more than I'd like, too. Not that there's a lot of sound. But the steady dripping, the occasional slow groaning of metal walls, the dull thumping of footsteps above me or outside the vast room, are all enough to have me on edge. And enough to drive home exactly where I am.

Oh, yeah. I know where I am. My files were thorough. Although I'm a bit fuzzy on how I got here. And why they even bothered. It's not like the 'Cons to take human prisoners.

That's why the cell's so big, after all. It's sized for prisoners the size of Sideswipe. Heck, you could fit Optimus in here without problems, though Skyfire would have to spend the time seated. I'm cassette-sized, I've got plenty of room.

Wondering if they'll remember to feed me, though. And if they even know what humans eat.

At least I'm not injured, though the damp and cold aren't doing me any favors. The slight bump on my head - evidence that I was knocked out – stings a bit, and I might have a mild concussion, but I can live with that. It's not like I'm going to get a full night's sleep in here anyway. And, unfortunately, I've got neither my comm or my gun. I must have lost them at some point – probably the same point that everything else went hazy, somewhere on the way to San Francisco.

Wheeljack won't be happy.

I walk over to the bars, sticking my head out between them. I've already made sure that the bars aren't energized – I guess they don't think that a squishy's worth the energy expenditure. Probably a good thing, or this move would kill me.

There's a guard in front of the doorway.

He's fricking huge. Not just tall, but wide, built like a bloody tank. Even slouching, he's intimidating.

But he's what I've got to work with.

"Hi," I call out.

He turns his head slowly, glowing red visor in a pale face eyeing me disinterestedly. Then he looks away again.

So I try again. "Hi."

No response this time.

Well, this is going to get old really fast.

"I have to say," I begin conversationally, "I'd heard better of Megatron's famous hospitality."

Still nothing. This hulking giant is decidedly unsociable.

I guess I'll have to wait until the watch changes. They have to have those, right? Even Decepticons need their recharge.

So I pull my head back in, and curl up against the berth that I just can't get up on. Might as well make myself as comfortable as I can.

* * *

When next I stick my head through the bars, it's a Seeker sitting in front of the doorway. Not one I've read about in my files, though. I'd have remembered seeing one that was mostly red.

Well, time to try again. "Hi."

He sneers at me. That's a form of progress, I suppose. "So the squishy talks. I thought it just whined."

"I'm surprised you thought at all," I snark back.

Brilliant, Isobel. Way to befriend the locals.

The Seeker throws a piece of scrap metal at me. His aim is eerily accurate, and I have to duck my head back inside to avoid having my skull bashed in.

Well, that could have gone better. I don't want to poke my head back out now in case he's still watching for it.

That doesn't mean I'm giving up, though.

"So what's the latest gossip?" I call loudly. "Starscream up to anything interesting these days?"

He snorts, and then I hear the ominous (there's that word again, I swear it's the only one that covers it in here) sound of footsteps coming closer to my cell.

"Why," he hisses, looming menacingly outside the bars, "you volunteering for the experiments?"

I shrug, putting on an air of I'm-totally-not-afraid-if-you-no-sir. "I dunno, is it worth seeing? Or is he just fragging up again?"

I should have kept my mouth shut. Or at least had the foresight to move further away.

He doesn't even use a lot of force. It's almost demeaning. Really, all he does is flick his finger – the only part of him that fits through the bars - against my forehead.

But it still throws me across the cell, landing me up against one leg of the berth where my head snaps painfully into the metal. I wince, feeling the telltale heat of blood flowing down my neck.

I've been coddled by my Autobots for too long. I forget how easily these beings can hurt me.

The Seeker is chuckling at me, a dark, grim sound that I'd give pretty much anything to never hear again. Especially in conjunction with the creak of the cell door opening.

"You know a lot, for a squishy," he rumbles, taking a step inside the cell.

He doesn't close it behind him.

The urge to run is almost overpowering. But even if I got out, I really wouldn't get very far. And I wouldn't know where to go.

"How come you know so much, huh, meatbag?"

I can't get away, either. I'm still up against the leg of the berth, the metal post is thicker than my body. And I'm woozy enough after that hit that it's all I can do to stay on my feet.

This doesn't look too good.

"Maybe I need to squeeze it out of you!" He lunges for me, dark fingers reaching, and I can't help it. I run.

Not that I get far. I don't even get to the cell door. I manage to get out of reach of his hands, but that just means that he kicks me instead.

The pain in my leg as I land is staggering. There will be no more running.

"Shut your trap, fleshie," the Seeker grunts, and I realize I'm howling, tears running down my face.

Yeah, it's partly the pain. And part sheer gut-wrenching terror.

I don't have any smart comebacks now.

"Oi, Thrust! You down here?"

The Seeker pauses, sneers at me. "Later, squishy." Then he walks out, slamming the cell door behind him. I'm left in the dirt, whimpering, listening.

"What?" the Seeker growls.

"You're wanted upstairs," the other voice says. "Starscream's gathering the trines, Megatron's orders. I'm to take over here."

The Seeker – Thrust – just grunts, and then the other door slams.

A new set of footsteps approaches my cell. I flinch back from the bars as much as I can, dragging my left leg behind me.

The mech stopping in front of my cell is shorter, stockier, more garishly colored. His dark face is winking at me. "He's right, you know. Thrust may be dumb as a bag of rusty bolts and worth less, but he's right." He squats down on his heels outside my cell. "You do know a lot more than the average squishy."

I just keep moving backwards as fast as I can shuffle.

"Hey, don't worry. I'm not comin' in there. Way I figure it, we picked you up for a reason. And I don't think it was to be a punching bag. We can use any squishy for that. Here." He puts a brown paper bag, tiny in his hands, down on the floor and slides it through the bars. "Figured it was about time for your refueling."

At those words, I realize I haven't eaten since they brought me here. And I don't know how long ago that was – judging from my stomach, it feels like it must be at least a day. About as long since last I had something to drink.

The Decepticon smiles slightly, one side of his mouth quirking. "I didn' poison it or nothing, you know. You can eat. See it as a free sample, a token of my goodwill, if you like."

That's not exactly reassuring, but I'm starving here. So I start shuffling forward again, slowly, carefully. When I get within reach of the bag, I snatch it and dodge away again.

The yellow and purple mech chuckles at me. Not cruelly, like Thrust did, but like he's seeing something funny in the situation that no one else sees.

The paper bag is full of takeaway boxes. They're still warm. And there are two bottles of water in there.

I down half of one bottle and open the first box eagerly, digging into the fried rice with relish. It's the best thing I've ever tasted.

The mech watches me eat for a while, still with that strange smile on his face. I'm on the third box – chicken with orange sauce – when he speaks again.

"Knew you were hungry. I've got a deal for you. One-time-only offer." He grins widely, falsely, as I look up. "Deal is, I bring you food and water like this every day. And every day, you tell me something I don't know – preferably about how the slag you know so much." He pauses, appraises me. "I listened, you know. I know that you know where you are. You know who rules here. I'm betting you know the entire command staff." He leans forward suddenly. "And that is not common information among squishies."

I look down again. I was expecting to be interrogated, but I thought there would be more pincers and needles and brute force involved. This one hasn't even threatened me. Unless you count the fact that I might not eat or drink tomorrow if I refuse.

Which, when you come right down to it, is a pretty big thing.

I don't think I can say no to this. And he didn't say what I have to divulge. For all I know, I can get away with telling how mad Ironhide got when he tripped over Sideswipe's illegal still. That can hardly count as secret information.

I don't know if they're coming for me. But starving to death – or thirsting to death, which is a very real possibility – won't help any.

"On one condition," I reply, trying to keep the tremors out of my voice. "You tell me your designation."

"There you go again, knowin' more than you should. If you were a normal human, you would have said 'name'. Okay," he chuckles. "I hardly think you're in a position to make demands, but it's not an unreasonable one at that, if we're to be working together. But then you also tell me yours."

I think that through quickly. I have no family, and my record is mostly public up until I started working with the army. I don't think he can harm anyone else using my name.

"That's fair," I agree. "I'm Isobel. Isobel Harrington."

"Pleasure doin' business with you, Isobel. I'm Swindle." He smiles again, gestures to the container on my lap. "Finish your meal before it gets cold."

I do as he says. Not a hard command to obey, really.

When I'm down to licking my fingers to get rid of the last remnants, he speaks again. "So. You know."

I nod. "I know."

"How do you know?"

I hesitate. No point giving away all my aces at once, is there? "Someone told me once."

He grins again. There's something deeply insincere about it, and it gives me the chills. "Nah, see, I don't buy that. You know it too well. Someone didn't just come along once and tell you about Megatron's stronghold and who his lieutenants are. You knew to recognize this place. You knew who to ask about. And you knew how to ask." He raises his index finger at me, wiggles it. "Try again, squishy."

I sigh. "The Autobots told me."

"Ah, see, now we're getting somewhere." He drops his hand again. "Now, why did the Autobots tell you?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow," I dare to say. "After you've fed me again."

He shakes his head, that half-smile back on his face. "No, you'll tell me now. The deal was that you tell me something I don't know. I already knew that the Autobots must have told you. Now I want to know why the Autobots told you. And make it good, sweet-cheeks."

"They told me because they thought I needed to know."

"Uh-huh. And why did you need to know?"

I sigh, caving. "So I would know what they were up against. So I would take on the risk with my eyes open." I look at him, an eyebrow raised. "So I could help."

He nods, grinning. "There you go. You're interesting for a squishy, Isobel Harrington. I think this deal will benefit both of us." He stands up. "I'm going to sit back over near the door now, ignoring you. Wouldn't do for ol' Megatron to get a whiff of what we're doing, now, would it? Far as he's concerned, I'm just making sure you refuel, ain't I?"

I nod, catching on, and he winks at me again. "Good squishy." Then he gets up and walks off. I can hear him settling down on the seat near the door with a grunt.

Well, damn. I take a few sips of water from the half-empty bottle, thinking.

I have to come up with a strategy for this. Swindle's cannier than I thought at first, he's not going to be satisfied with dumb stories and pointless jokes. I need to spin this out, Scheherazade-style, make sure I survive long enough for them to come find me.

If they plan to come find me, that is. If they know where I am.

It's a pretty damn big if.

The thought isn't comforting. But I'm not hungry anymore, my mind is still foggy, and I just can't keep my eyes open anymore even though I know I shouldn't sleep with my head like this. So with Swindle still guarding the door, I doze off.

* * *

I curl up the empty burger wrapper and look up. Swindle is watching me expectantly.

"All done?"

I nod.

"Good." He smiles that small smile. "Now, yesterday you told me about your job. Today I want to know how you ended up with the Autobots."

It's the third day in the reign of Swindle. My leg still hurts like pit, and I can't walk on it, but my head's better. Best of all, he keeps me fed and watered and the other guards haven't touched me.

Not that I've been provoking them either. I've been sitting still and silent in my cell like a good little mouse.

Keeping him with information without giving away anything crucial turns out to require every bit of mental acuity I possess, though. I managed yesterday, but he seems to know which question to ask and how to phrase them so I can't dodge. And at this point, he's the only thing keeping me alive in here - I piss off Swindle, I have no doubt that that's it. So I can't dodge him too hard either.

At least he always stays outside the cell.

He's still looking at me, waiting for my response. I wipe my fingers and mouth on the napkins that came with the meal, buying some more time.

"I told you that I'm a psychologist with a specialization in post-traumatic stress disorder in soldiers," I begin carefully. He nods – not impatiently, but still urging me to go on. "Well, I've been working on army bases for years now, ever since my brother killed himself after coming home from Iraq."

"He killed himself? When?"

"Oh, about four years ago now." I look up, wait for the customary sympathy, but of course this is a Decepticon. Decepticons don't do the sympathy spiel. Swindle just nods and waits for me to go on.

"Anyway, last year I was transferred to work with N.E.S.T. You know of them?" He nods again. "Well, that's how. I've been sharing a base with the Autobots since then."

"Well, that's reasonable enough." His gaze suddenly sharpens. "Sharing a base, you say. You don't work with them?"

"I'm hired by N.E.S.T. to work with the human soldiers," I reply. All true, just not all the truth. "I don't work for the Autobots."

"So why would they want you to be informed? To help?"

"There are risks that comes from sharing a base with giant robots." I reply, pointing at him. "So I learned some things."

"That's it?"

I can tell he knows that that's not it. But I'm hoping I can feed him something else, get him off the scent.

"The Prime –" no calling him Optimus, not here, I don't want to show how familiar I am with them "- asked me once to assist with interrogation of Decepticon prisoners. I said no." I school myself not to fidget. "That's all."

He smiles that small smile again, and I think I've gotten away with it. For today, at least. "Why did you say no?"

I smile back, as genuinely as I'm able to with my heart beating this fast. "I don't do interrogations. Especially not of giant alien robots."

"Fair enough." He grins, stands back up. "Later, squishy."

Swindle's very careful. He never stays for more than a couple of minutes after I'm done eating, only asking a couple of questions every day. For some reason, I don't think he's giving the information to anyone else, either – this is all to his own benefit.

I crawl back into my corner, flush up against the bed post, and start planning my answers for tomorrow.

* * *

On the sixth day, there is no Swindle.

Not that it's that easy to tell the days, here. The light never changes. But I've gotten a feel for how the time passes after six days in this hellhole, and I'm fairly sure he would normally have been here by now. My stomach thinks so, too.

The day's been abnormal all around. There's no guard here at all – not that I'm a flight risk, since I can't walk and can't get through the bars and can't get out of the base either, for that matter, but still. And earlier, there was a lot of stomping and clanging reverberating through the walls. After that, everything's been deathly quiet.

I'm trying to banish the thought that the 'Cons have all fled and just left me here. That's not conducive to my mental health.

No, they're coming back. They have to, this is their base after all.

I curl up in my corner, arms around my one functioning knee, and wait.

The relief when I finally hear noises again, after what seems like at least several hours and definitely half my lifetime, is an exhilarating, physical thing. I don't really care if Swindle's coming back today or not, knowing that I'm not down here all alone and have nothing to look forward to other than thirsting to death slowly is enough for today. It's enough to relax every part of my body so utterly, banishing all the stress and adrenaline, that I'm falling asleep before I know it.

The banging of the brig door opening rouses me again with a start, and for a moment I've forgotten where I am. It comes back to me quickly when the mustard-yellow familiar legs comes into view in front of my cell.

"Sorry, sweet-cheeks, no hot food today," he says, dumping down tiredly in front of the cell bars. "Had to dig something out of my stock."

He tosses me a bottle of water and a cellophane bag that I recognize as a field ration.

"Thanks," I say, ripping open the plastic. The fact that he has a personal stock of human food is interesting – I wonder if I'm the only reason for that.

The meal doesn't taste that awesome, but it's food, and it doesn't require any form of preparation, which is a plus. I look up at him as I chew, for the first time noticing the deplorable state of his plating.

"You look like you've had a run-in with shrapnel." He does – there're dings and scrapes and dents all over him, and his windshield's shattered.

"Nah, Shrapnel was busy attacking Auto-dorks," he grins, clearly expecting me to giggle or something and disappointed when I don't get it. "Not that well-informed, huh. Doesn't matter. No, I had a run-in with Defensor."

I school myself not to react at the name. I'm not thinking about First Aid. I've done my best lately not to think about First Aid, because that will definitely break me. Instead, I've been imagining Jazz breaking into this base, and Sunstreaker bashing Thrust's head in.

Not very charitable thoughts, but there you go. I don't figure that the Seeker necessarily earned any charity from me for a while.

"That's one of the big ones, right?" I say, swallowing. "Now why did you get in the way of him? He seems a bit out of your league."

"Oh, you don't know?" He grins, and this time it's a proud, feral thing. "I'm one of the big ones, too."

I grin. "You're kidding."

He smirks proudly. "That I am not."

"Cool." A little flattery doesn't hurt, does it? "So you've been fighting today?"

"Yeah, Megatron wanted some doohickey or other that the Autobrats were guarding, so we all had to go."

I quirk an eyebrow at him. "Did you get it? The doohickey?"

He shrugs, a roll of one yellow shoulder. "Who knows? All I know is, everybody was poundin' on everybody, and then we had to retreat. Same way we always do it. Anyway, I seem to remember that I'm the one who's supposed to ask the questions."

That's not the first time I've asked questions. It won't be the last one either, and he knows it. I keep pushing to see how much I can get away with. It's interesting, despite the risk, because Swindle seems to enjoy the talking. Not that he ever volunteers anything of value, I'm sure the Autobots know everything I've managed to get out of him already, but it puts us on a more even footing. And I'm all for that.

I probably pushed enough for now, though, so I curl up the wrapping, cant my head at him. "Go ahead."

"Why are you so interested in us?"

I blink. A personal question – I wasn't expecting that. And for once, not something I have to guard my tongue about.

"Us Cybertronians or us Decepticons?"

"Both."

"Huh. Okay. Well, I'm a sci-fi nut, always have been. So giant alien robots from outer space are just my thing. And I'm interested in what makes people tick – that's why I chose my field – and you guys are a brand new type of people. I don't know anything about you. Decepticon-wise…" I purse my lips, think it over. "I don't know that I have a special interest in Decepticons. But I like learning. And I haven't been able to figure you out yet."

He grins at that. "Yeah, Megatron has that problem with Starscream too."

I chuckle, though I remember Ratchet's opinion on how Megatron tries to 'figure out' Starscream. It's not really that funny.

"What about you?" I ask, deciding to push a little extra today. Swindle seems to be in the mood to tolerate it. "Why are you so interested in me?"

"You as in me Swindle or us Decepticons?"

I snort. "Come on, the 'Cons in general aren't interested in me. But you are, Swindle, or you wouldn't be here."

"Clever girl." He smiles that grin again. "It's 'cause you're interesting, sweet-cheeks." He holds up his hand, ticking off his list as he speaks. "First, you're not scared of me. Which is weird, by the way. Why aren't you scared?"

Not scared? I'm terrified. It takes all I have to keep talking, smiling, joking as if I'm comfortable in the situation, because nothing could be further from the truth.

I shrug, keeping up the act. "Should I be scared?"

"Well, you should at least be nervous," he replies, chuckling. "We're normally not nice to squishies, you know."

I shoot him a half-smile. "Well, I've been accused in the past of lacking a sense of self-preservation."

He nods. "Sounds about right. Two. You actually answer my questions without me forcing you. I don't know if that's because you're dumb or if you're too trusting or what your game is, which fascinates me on a personal level. Three. You were with the Autodorks, but without actually needing to be. And you're not a fighter, you're not in the squishies' army, which means that you have a personal interest in them. I don't care that you're denying it. Four – I have to admit I'm curious to see how far you'll go before you crack completely, how long your sanity lasts down here. And five – it would piss off a lot of 'Cons if I got an advantage out of this, which is actually reason enough for me."

Well, talk about getting more than I asked for. And remembering suddenly that Swindle is every bit as Decepticon as the rest of them. He's just an entrepreneur first.

The last two reasons make me nervous, though I'm not about to tell him that. Six days of Swindle plus the first day without him makes for a week without rescue. I don't think my Autobots have forgotten about me – heck, I know they haven't – but it's starting to look like that fantasy of Jazz breaking his way in here to rescue me is just that. And if this turns into some sick experiment for Swindle to see how far he can push me before I break, it could get very dangerous for me.

Heck, it already is very dangerous for me.

"What kind of advantage?" I ask, because that seems like the most important thing to figure out right now as well as a fairly safe question. I don't want to find out how far he means to push me, I don't know if I can handle his answer to that. "With Megatron?"

He smirks at me, a slow, long leer that somehow makes me feel measured and valued and divvied up for sale. "Nah, sweet-cheeks. An advantage for whenever." He reaches in through the bars, rests a fingertip lightly on my forehead. "So you best keep being useful." Then he gets up and leaves.

And I'm left covered in goosebumps and cold sweat. Because that was a warning and a reminder all rolled into one short sentence. Don't get too friendly. Don't forget who you're dealing with here. Don't forget where you are.

I hop back to sit against the edge of the bed. Once again, I imagine my Autobots storming the base, shooting down the 'Cons that are facing them, breaking down the door to the cell and pulling me out of there.

It's enough to keep the terror at bay for another night.

* * *

It's the eleventh day in the reign of Swindle. But the mech standing outside the bars of my cell, red visor eyeing me, the mech whose voice pulled me awake, is not him.

"Hey, squishy," he grates when he notices me looking. "You're not dead."

Well, no. And I'm stomping hard on the strand of thought that says 'not yet'.

A second look at the mech, and I realize why he looks so familiar and yet not. "You're a cassette," I croak.

Twelve days in Decepticon HQ, in the cold, dank, damp air of the brig, has messed me over in more ways than one, and the last couple of days I've woken up with a fever and a throat that feels like someone's pushed a saw down it. I barely managed to swallow the food and water that Swindle brought me yesterday.

The cassette frowns at me. "Yep. And the fact that ya know that means Swindle's right. Ya know a lot more than ya should."

I just shrug. That's relatively painless, at least.

"Now, lucky for you, the boss already knows why ya know much more'n ya should," he continues. "Which means that ya prob'ly won't be interrogated that hard."

"There's no call to interrogate her much, is there?" Swindle's voice says. It's followed by the appearance of familiar mustard yellow and black legs. He drops down, pushes another paper bag through my bars. "Hey, Rumble."

The cassette nods at him. "Hey."

"Eat," Swindle prods, pushing the bag closer with the tip of a finger.

I debate it for a moment. Say no – because I know I won't be able to swallow anything – or give it a try and show them exactly how sick I am?

How much will it cost me to show them? Less than if I just refuse?

It's so hard to think – my brain's all foggy. So I just decide to take a leaf out of Swindle's book and not tell them how crappy I actually feel. I shake my head. Swindle hasn't touched me yet. And Rumble… Well, if he is who I think he is, I'm hoping I've got an ace in the hole.

"No?" Swindle says, sounding confused.

Rumble snorts. "Figures. Even the squishies ya get us are faulty, Swindle. Can ya do anything right?"

"She was fine yesterday," Swindle says, sounding a bit defensive. "You know I don't deal in damaged goods, Rumble. Your boss knows that, too."

Deal? Has Swindle sold me to Soundwave?

I wish I wasn't sick. I'm not feeling remotely up to figuring out what's going on.

So I just ask. What's the worst that could happen, right?

And oh, how I wish I hadn't thought that, because my mind has no problems conjuring up all the bad things that could happen.

"What's up?" I croak, wincing at the pain.

Swindle's optic ridges climb. "What the frag's up with you, Isobel? You sound like you've got rust in your vocalizer or something."

"What, she a pet now, Swindle?" Rumble taunts. "Are ya tamin' her by using her name?"

"Mute it," Swindle replies, leaning closer to the bars and frowning. "I have an interest in my merchandise."

"Well, it so happens that th' boss has an interest in your merchandise too, dumb-aft," Rumble says, grinning. "He wants her upstairs. Now."

I'm really, really hoping that when Rumble says 'boss', he means Soundwave and not Megatron. Because I'm not sure I'll survive coming face to face with the Decepticon leader.

Swindle doesn't look too happy, but he opens the door and enters my cell for the first time.

"Too bad ya can't just subspace her," Rumble says, in a tone that indicates he's probably joking.

"Well, the boss probably wanted her intact, didn't he?" Swindle replies. "Not as a choked-off smear of organic mess he'd have to scrape out of my subspace with a scoop."

"Get her walking, then," Rumble says, canting his head towards the door.

Instead, Swindle bends down towards me. I don't try to crawl away as his hand drops, picking me up carefully. Much as I really don't want to see Soundwave – or Megatron, God forbid – there's really nowhere to crawl _to_.

"She can't walk. Thrust messed her leg up somehow." Swindle straightens, holding me about the waist like King Kong with Ann Darrow.

"So she is damaged goods, then," Rumble laughs, a braying kind of sound that rubs me completely the wrong way. "Well, we'll see what the boss says."

I try to make sense of where we're going in case I manage to escape, but it doesn't take me long to come to the grim realization that I'm not getting out of here unassisted. The hallways are too long, there are too many doors and elevators with control panels too high up on the walls for me to even contemplate reaching. This place was not built for humans.

It's way too easy to get lost, too. I lose count at the third intersection. After that, I watch the Decepticons instead while trying to look innocuous in Swindle's fist. Not that hard – I can barely keep my eyes open.

Rumble flies in front of us, hovering somehow, always keeping far enough ahead to make it clear that he's setting the pace but close enough to make sure that everyone knows we're following him. Swindle follows him closely, and though he seems to be trying to jostle me as little as possible every step jars in my head. My bad leg, dangling unsupported, feels like it's going to fall off at any moment.

Every time someone passes us in the hallway, I get looks. Sneers. Thrust, when we pass him in the hallway, grins at me in a manner that promises more pain next time we meet.

Most of them, though, just look at me with disgust. Like I'm the dead rat that the cat dragged in and dissected on the living room floor. More than one of them smirks at Swindle, and I hear comments like 'peddling in organics now' and 'wonder what he did to deserve that' and 'never get the squishy out of his joints'. Swindle, when I look up at him, has his trademark business expression fixed in place, with a side order of Mild Suffering and what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this, and he never wavers. He is a Mech with a Task, and everyone better know it. No way he's doing this voluntarily, no sir, and damn that superior who made him do it.

Yeah, these are not Autobots. That's becoming scarily obvious.

And it sinks in, suddenly. That I'm lucky they haven't killed me yet. I'm lucky that Swindle decided to take an interest in me, even if it is for his own gain. If he hadn't, I'd be dead already.

It's been twelve days. Twelve days as a captive with a faction that never keeps humans around, don't know how to care for human prisoners and don't particularly want to.

By all rights, I should be dead.

And so, I finally admit to myself that they're not coming for me. There won't be a Jazz, suddenly standing outside my cell with a grin and a "Ready, sweetspark?". There won't be a Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, shooting their way through the hallways, picking me up with customary grins and saying that they thought I had more sense than this.

There won't be a First Aid waiting eagerly for me outside the base, gathering me up in his arms as soon as I'm free and never letting me go again.

I'm not getting out of here.

I manage to keep the tears at bay, but I know Swindle notices the choking or my heart thrumming like mad, because he's staring at me like I'm some new kind of alien. I just hope he thinks it's because I'm sick. I close my eyes and let my head fall down towards my chest, whimpering.

"Huh," Rumble says. "Better hurry up. Boss can't interrogate a dead squishy."

Ah, there's the confirmation. There's the other shoe. Knew it had to be something.

I let myself go completely limp in Swindle's grasp. Maybe if they think I'm unconscious, they'll let me be for today.

* * *

The eleventh day in the reign of Swindle was also the first day in the reign of Soundwave. And where Swindle was a benevolent dictator, Soundwave's an absolute tyrant.

Oh, he doesn't hurt me. Much. Not permanent injuries, anyway.

But I've lost count of the days. I don't get to sleep – he, or one of his symbionts, wakes me up at irregular intervals whenever I manage to fall asleep. I don't eat; every now and then he gives me an energy bar and a glass of water, and that's it. Hungry's a permanent state. At least my throat settled somewhat so I manage to force the stuff down.

And I ache. Everywhere. Soundwave uses some form of shock administrator, a rod of some kind that issues electric current, and he's prone to laying it across where my skin is thinnest – inside of the elbows, back and sides of the neck, the curve of my pelvis and upper thigh, the insides of my wrists, the back of my knees. Strapped down as I am, stripped down as I am, there's not much I can do about it.

"Response: incorrect," Soundwave intones, and I howl as the current licks across my skin. "Subject: will give correct response next time."

Reign of Soundwave, day – oh, I don't even know anymore.

"Subject: will detail Prime's sources in California," the big, blue, cassette master of destruction continues. The rod hovers over my throat threateningly.

"I don't know," I wheeze. "No one tells me anything sensitive."

The rod touches the base of my throat. The touch is gentle, but the effect is not.

"Subject: will explain Prime's knowledge of Decepticon movements," Soundwave states in that monotone that I've come to dread. I steel myself for the inevitable current again, my heart still pounding from the last touch.

So far, I haven't been able to answer a single one of his demands for information. Not one. And he punishes me accordingly every blasted time.

So much for hoping that he'd be favorable towards me because I was kind to Laserbeak. I guess Decepticons don't do favors.

"I don't know," I whimper, and instantly arch against the bonds at the current.

"Huh, she's completely useless," today's cassette complains. It's the red one this time – not Rumble, the other one. "She knows absolutely nothing, does she?"

"Subject: resisting," Soundwave replies, and there's a clatter as he puts the rod away. "Frenzy: remove subject."

The same words, every day, signaling the end of my daily torture. Soundwave turns and leaves, and the cassette – Frenzy – starts undoing my bonds.

"Don't know why ya just don't tell him," he says conversationally. "Would save ya a whole lot of pain."

I don't respond. I learned the first day to not say anything unless Soundwave was in the room. He drove that lesson in hard. And both cassettes use the shock rod if they think they should.

"Come on, squishy," Frenzy says, stepping back and letting me make my way down from the table by myself. He's not patient, even less so than Rumble is, so I scramble down as fast as I manage and limp as best I can over to the cell constructed for me in the corner. It's smaller than the one in the brig, built for a cassette-size – built for me, I wonder – with a pallet in one corner and a hole in the floor leading down to a waste pipe of some sort in the other.

I drop down on the pallet shakily, curling up as much as my stiff knee will let me. Sleep is hard to find, but I close my eyes and try to control the trembling, to relax my frozen muscles and slow my breathing down. It's all I can do now.

As Frenzy leaves, he turns the lights off, leaving me in staggering darkness. That won't last, either – the light is cycled constantly, I never know what I'll open my eyes to or if I'm alone when I do. The only time the light is on with any consistency is when I'm strapped to that table.

If I open my eyes, I look straight at it.

So I don't. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to pretend that I'm back home, running on the dirt track around the base, or on the beach, or eating my lunch outside.

And I pretend that I'm not alone. He's there with me, of course, always looking at me through long eyelashes and smiling, fingers running over my skin lovingly.

I fall asleep hearing his voice in my mind.

* * *

"Subject: will describe Blaster's cassettes," Soundwave intones.

I try to slow my frantic breathing enough to just understand what he's saying.

It's the first century of Soundwave's reign, and he's getting to the difficult questions now. I don't want to give away something that the Decepticons don't know, something they can use to hurt the Autobots.

Apparently, I take too long to answer. The deceptively gentle touch to the thin skin over my hipbone burns like hot coals.

"Subject: will describe Blaster's cassettes," Soundwave repeats.

I scream at the touch of the probe. Screaming is better than responding.

Until the tip of the rod rolls slowly, excruciatingly over my stomach, up to my breasts, cresting a nipple.

I shriek, tears flowing down my cheeks, toss my head from side to side. "No, no, no please no, don't, please, please stop, stop!"

"Subject: will respond."

"He's got four," I sob. "Two mechs, a cat, a rhino."

The rod is removed. I gasp, try to catch my breath again, but it hitches in my throat and I can't breathe properly. I just keep gasping for breath without getting any. My vision fades out, there's a loud roaring in my ears, I distantly feel my feet begin to drum against the table.

"Boss!" I can barely hear today's cassette shouting over the roar.

I'm wrenched off the table hard enough to hurt. Something large and heavy hits my back repeatedly until I start coughing. Then I'm left hanging, face down, over a hard, bright, cold edge. It takes me a couple of deep breaths to realize that I'm hanging over Soundwave's thigh, and that his finger was what pounded me in the back.

The roaring in my ears fade gradually, but when I'm placed back on the table I'm too exhausted to open my eyes. My head just flops to the side. I can't move a muscle, even without the restraints.

Soundwave is silent for a moment. Then the rod clatters as it is put down. "Rumble: remove subject."

"Yes, boss."

The door slams shut. Today, though, I can't move. I just can't.

Rumble seems to understand as much. He picks me up, none too gently, and deposit me in my cage. "Later, squishy."

* * *

"Subject: will divulge Autobot energon sources."

"I don't know!" I shriek. "They get everything from the army, I don't know!"

It's day something in the reign of Soundwave, and I've given up. I can't fight anymore, I don't have any strength left. Soundwave's rule has left its mark on me. I've lost a lot of weight and can see my ribs and hip bones, my legs won't carry me anymore, I'm constantly trembling and twitching.

I'm pretty sure I'm dying. But I can't seem to summon the energy to care.

"Subject: will detail Autobot alliance with the army."

"I don't know," I whimper, squeezing my eyes shut. Not that I can see much, I haven't been able to focus my sight for a while. "I don't know, please, just make it stop."

"Subject: will reveal Autobot security preparations."

"I don't know," I whisper. My lips are dry and cracked, it hurts to move them too much.

There's a clatter as Soundwave puts the rod away and start loosening my bonds. "Rumble: take subject away."

"Okay, boss."

I realize, somewhere in my foggy mind, that this is unusual. Something's off about Soundwave's phrasing, and he's never untied me himself before.

"Rumble: will seek out Combaticon Swindle."

"Yeah, boss, I know the plan. Come on, meatbag."

I'm picked up, head dangling and limbs twitching, and thrown over the cassette's shoulder. My vision's blurry, but I register enough to see that he's not taking me to my cage. Instead, we leave the room.

I fade into the darkness for a while, Rumble's rhythmic step serving to lull me almost to the point of unconsciousness.

"Slag," someone breathes. "What did you do to her!? Do you know how much trouble I went through to keep her decently fed?"

"She's not yours to worry about anymore," Rumble grunts back. "Ya know what to do?"

"Yeah, I know what to do, it's my plan, you little –"

The rest of the words, spoken in that familiar voice, are lost to me as Rumble manhandles me off his shoulder and into another pair of hands.

"The boss is in command, watching," Rumble says. "Move."

"Yeah, yeah," the voice replies from over my head. "Little glitch."

I'm cradled in a metal bowl of sorts, held up against something warm, as the rhythmic stepping continues, lulling me. My eyelids are really heavy – I try to open them, but there's no way.

I don't know how long this goes on for. I'm fading in and out, noticing things every now and then. A doorway. The voice over my head complaining about food costs. The footsteps changing, echoing differently, as we move from room to room.

A blast of freezing air jars me awake, gasping, and I curl up against the hot metal in front of me, clawing at it to get away from the cold.

"Slag," the voice curses. "And you without your isolation, too. Let's hope you can last until the mainland, sweet-cheeks."

The pet name, never really an endearment coming from him, nails it for me. I force my eyes open to see familiar purple and orange plating. "Swindle?" I croak.

"None other," he replies cheerfully. "Now buckle up, the wind's fairly heavy."

It's so cold. And wet. The hot plating in front of me isn't enough, and I'm soon shivering violently, my teeth chattering hard enough that a distant part of me is afraid they'll crack. There's no light, no familiar walls to let me know where we are.

When the cold and wind suddenly stops, it's a relief at first. But Swindle's plating's as cold as the air and does nothing to ease my shivers.

"Hold on for a little longer, sweet-cheeks," he says urgently. "We're almost there."

The footsteps are different. Not stomping over the metal floors, echoing in dank hallways, but thumping over uneven ground, sinking slightly for each step. It makes his gait uneven, and he cradles me closer to compensate.

I'm so cold. My teeth aren't chattering anymore, but my body feels like a lead weight, like I can't move any part of it. My focus narrows to the slight warmth of the plating in front of me and the gently, thudding rhythm of his footsteps, somehow in beat with my heart.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

Thump thump.

"Halt, Decepticon."

The thumping footsteps stop.

"Hey, easy," Swindle says placatingly. "I've kept my side of the bargain."

"Oh, yeah? We'll see," the other voice replies gruffly. It sounds familiar, somehow. "C'mon."

We're moving again, and suddenly the footsteps are loud, echoing around me. I'd open my eyes if I could manage.

"That her?" the gruff voice asks.

"Yeah," Swindle replies, and then he lifts me away from the heat. I whimper weakly, reaching for the warm plating, as the quiet is broken by loud hissing and curses.

"What didya do, ya glitch?" someone snarls, and I know that voice. Oh, I know that voice.

I can't keep the tears back. "Jazz?"

"Yeah, it's me, sweetspark," he murmurs, and warm hands pick me out of Swindle's cold fingers. "Primus, look what they did to you."

"I didn't do this," Swindle huffs. "I wouldn't."

That has me chuckling weakly. "Oh, Swindle, I knew you cared."

"Cared? Nah, not on your life, sweet-cheeks," he says, and I can hear the trademarked grin. It's enough to make me manage to open my eyes, finding the tall yellow and purple blur. "I don't do things out of the goodness of my spark. This is all business."

"All right, give her here," someone says, and Jazz places me carefully onto a warm, soft surface. The heat is nice. "Primus, there's nothing left of her." Warm humanoid fingers probe my knee, my scalp, my ribs. "She's had a few bumps to the head, but they're older injuries. So's the knee, but she may need surgery if she's going to walk on it again. Posterial breaks to at least three ribs, possible bruising to the spine as well. Also, she's half frozen to death as well as running a serious temperature. Open your eyes for me, sparklet."

I open them, look up at the blur I know to be Ratchet's holoform. There's a bright light shining into my eyes. "Delayed pupillary response, possibly because of head trauma but more likely because of her diet. Or lack of it. Slag it, did you have to starve her?"

"I did no such thing," Swindle objects. "I kept her fed. Not my fault if the highers-up didn't."

"It's true," I murmur, my voice brittle. "Swindle fed me. He's nice."

There's a distinct snort from the Swindle-colored blur.

"Then who did this?" Jazz says, and he sounds pissed.

"Soundwave," Swindle replies, and I flinch. "He took her away from me after a while, and I didn't get her back until today."

"Soundwave," Jazz repeats, and it sounds like a curse. "Why?"

"Why else?" the Decepticon shrugs. "Information. Dunno why he bothered, I managed the same thing with food. Now, about my payment…"

"Yeah, that's right," someone sneers, and I realize that there are more Autobots here than I'd thought. "Your payment."

"Payment?" I echo weakly. Ratchet takes hold of my arm, inserting a needle of some sort.

Swindle grins, widely enough that I can see it. "Yeah, sweet-cheeks, you didn't think I did this out of the kindness of my spark, did you? Braved Soundwave, faced the wrath of Megatron, risk my own plating just to get you out?" He snorts. "I wouldn't do that for my own team, even. "

"He wouldn't," Ratchet confirms dryly. "He's tried to sell them before."

"I got paid three times over for this – your information, Soundwave's favors and now the credits," Swindle smirks. "Everybody's been kind enough to make it worth my while."

A large, red shape moves over to him and hands over a bag that's clinking softly.

"Here, Decepticreep," Sideswipe sneers. "Now get outta here."

"Pleasure doing business with you," Swindle grins cheekily. "Bye, sweet-cheeks." He turns, walking away.

And suddenly I'm surrounded by 'bots, despite Ratchet's best efforts. He's snarling at them as he works.

"No, Sideswipe, that's – slag it, Jazz, don't – Ironhide! Move!"

"Will she be okay, Ratchet?" someone asks breathlessly. I force my eyes open to find Bluestreak's optics staring at me nervously, very close to my face.

"Blue, you were supposed to watch the 'Con until he was out of sight," Ironhide says sternly.

"He is," the gunner argues, "I had my sights on him until he flew back over the ocean, and in this weather I can't really see him very well at all, even with that color scheme and why do you think they're that color, Ironhide, because it's certainly not for camouflage, and- "

I tune him out, close my eyes again. Focus on Ratchet. Cool, steady hands moving across my ribs, following the path of angry red skin I know is left behind after the shock probe earlier. Moving on to my neck, probing at the glands behind my jaw and lifting my eyelids gently, tugging at my jaw to open my mouth and examining the inside of my lip. Then another needle in my arm, before moving back up to my head, cradling my cheek and probing my head gently.

"She'll live," he pronounces firmly, but quietly. "We need to get her to med bay, though. She's lost a lot of weight, is dehydrated, we need to get her body temperature normalized. And I'd like a human medic to take a look at that knee."

Even with my eyes closed, I notice the way the others relax at that. But as the Autobots move into action, the sounds of transformation echoing around me, I manage to find Ratchet's hand and tug at his fingers weakly.

"Sparklet?" he says, and I more sense than see him leaning down over me.

"Am I really safe?" I whisper. The thought's been bothering me ever since I heard Ironhide's voice challenging Swindle. I've dreamed of this too many times to trust it now.

"Yes, Isobel, you're really safe," Ratchet murmurs, with a timbre to his voice that I've never heard before. "You're back where you belong." A gentle hand to my forehead, another squeezing my fingers. "Rest, sparklet. We're taking you home."

At that I finally relax, loosening muscles I didn't even know were taut. My head rolls to the side as Ratchet shifts me into his alt mode and covers me with a thick blanket, and I drift off to the first real sleep I've had since before the reign of Swindle.

I'm safe.


	27. Returned

When I open my eyes next, I look up at unfamiliar plaster ceiling. I try to move my head (which aches), then my arms (and that burns and tugs at IV lines and hospital tape) and then finally my legs, which proves impossible. I grunt as the pain shoots up my spine.

Okay. Lying still, then.

The tugging and twisting set my machines to beeping, though, and soon I have company.

"Hey, doctor Hancock," I say, smiling slightly. "Guess you didn't think we'd meet again like this, huh."

"No, doctor Harrington, that I did not," she replies in her precise accent. "You can still call me Catherine, you know."

I shrug, one-shouldered to keep the machines from going off again. "Yeah, that feels strange when I'm in a hospital bed in your clinic."

"Yes, well. I suppose I do see your point." She walks over, checks out the readings on my machines. "Welcome back to the land of the conscious. How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been dangling from a high-voltage fence for a week," I reply, wincing as she probes my head gently. "How long have I been out?"

"That sounds accurate," she murmurs. "You came in unconscious yesterday, and I didn't try waking you. Your mind needed the healing. So about twenty-four hours, I'd say." She straightens, pushes a stray yellow curl out of her eyes. "It all seems to find you, doesn't it."

"I guess," I reply. "I'm not trying to find trouble, I promise."

"I'm just happy we got you back." Catherine squeezes my hand. "We all are. You've been missed. By everyone."

That brings everything that happened with Vale to the forefront of my mind again. I managed to forget about it while I was a guest with the 'Cons – mainly because my mind was preoccupied with survival. But now I remember. "How is Parker? How's the case going?"

"Oh no, you don't," Catherine replies sternly. "You need rest, healing, not worrying about that." She relents slightly, though, with a sigh. Probably knows me well enough by now that she knows I need to know. "Parker is doing better. She's back in her room with Bumblebee guarding her every night. We're waiting for a court date on the case. That's all I'm going to tell you about the matter."

"Thanks," I grin at her, though even I can tell it's a tired expression.

"You're welcome. Now, if you're up to it, I know someone who would like to speak to you."

I know who – it's apparent in the small knowing smile she flashes me. First Aid is waiting to see me. I'd bet he's right outside. I wonder what she told him to keep him away until now.

"He's been waiting since they brought you back yesterday," Catherine continues. "He wanted to observe the work done on your knee this morning, but he couldn't maintain a professional demeanor. I had to have him removed from the premises." She pauses, looks at me. "Do you know the extent of what they did to you?"

I look away. "I tried not to take in too much of what they actually did."

"Well, you have to know now." She purses her lips, picks up my chart. "There were indications of blunt force trauma to your head on two separate occasions." She reaches out, touches my head carefully. "Here, and here. The open wound on the back of your head was badly infected, so we have you on strong antibiotics. I had to trim the wound edges before stitching you up. On top of that…" She turns to the next page on the chart. "Torn knee ligaments to the left knee, both the medial collateral and the anterior cruciate. We operated on that this morning, to reconstruct and repair the ligaments, but you're in for an extensive course of physical therapy or you won't regain full mobility. Breaks to three ribs and fissure fractures to another two, as well as a heavily bruised spinal column. Severe dehydration and malnutrition, to the point where your kidneys were beginning to fail and your eyesight was affected. You also have a respiratory infection, but the antibiotics should take care of that. Micro-fracturing to your wrists, ankles, and, most worryingly, your neck – the kind of fracturing often found in victims of electrocution. Electrical burns over large areas of your skin, the same areas as the micro-fractures but also the back of your knees, front of your hips and your torso. In addition to all that, you nearly froze to death." She looks at me. "That's just the physical injuries. I suspect you already know of the psychological ramifications of this."

Yeah. That I do. "Can I see him?" I ask, instead of commenting on all that.

She smiles again, putting my chart down. "Of course. I'll go get him." She turns to the door, pauses, looks back at me. "It's good to have you back, darling. We were all worried about you."

"Thanks." I wait, anxiously, as the door closes and I'm alone.

It's very quiet in here. They've placed me with my back to the window, so I can't look out, and the only sounds are those of the machinery attached to me. The clinic's been soundproofed, so I can't hear what's going on outside, and I can't hear if anyone else is in the building either. I can't even tell what time it is.

Before I know it, my heartrate's climbing again, my breathing's accelerating, and my hands are fists in the sheets, clenching and unclenching.

And then the blue sparks begin appearing in front of me. Within a few moments, he's there.

"Isobel," First Aid breathes, walking slowly, hesitantly towards my bed. "Primus, you're – oh, love, you –" He runs the last steps, pulling me into his arms and holding me tighter than I thought possible.

"First Aid," I whimper, and now it all comes crashing down on me: the fact that I never thought I'd see him again, that I was sure I was going to die, that it hurt _so much_ and I just couldn't think of him because I was sure I'd lost him and if I'd let myself dwell on that I wouldn't have made it, and –

"I know," he murmurs, and I realize I said all that out loud. "I know, love." He holds me as I cry, all the pent-up tears from the last goodness knows how many days pouring out at once. His hand moves on my back, oh so gently, avoiding the breaks in my ribs that he of course knows are there, and he's crooning comfort and love in my ear as I keen against his neck.

And then, when I'm starting to calm down, his dam breaks too. "I've been so worried about you," he chokes out. "Primus, Isobel, I thought I'd lost you. I haven't been able to recharge, to fuel – I keep having visions of you in all sorts of – and I didn't know what to do, or how to go on, and…" He squeezes me tightly, press a kiss to my hair. "I've missed you. I've missed you so much. Primus, love, I've been so scared."

I just cling to him, to the warmth that is him; pushing my face against his throat to smell the almost-no-scent-at-all that is uniquely holoform, feel the vibrations of him against my cheek, the softness of his skin against my forehead.

And then I pull back, catch his eyes. There's something I need to know.

"Aid, why didn't anyone come for me?" I whisper brokenly. "Why did I have to stay there until Swindle got me out?"

"Oh, Isobel," he replies, just as quietly, just as devastated. "We didn't know where you were, love. We've been looking and looking, doubling the patrols, even reported you missing to the human police. No one knew what happened to you – one minute you're in Sunstreaker's hands, the next he's knocked down by Menasor and no one has eyes on you. Sideswipe swears he saw you fall into the water." He pauses, draws a shaky breath. "If we'd known that the 'Cons had you… Well, we would have been there for you the very first day. But we didn't know, and they didn't say. Usually, when Megatron has one of ours in his claws, he calls to brag about it first thing, but now… Jazz even scouted their base, and we still didn't know you were there." He looks me in the eyes then, and I'm surprised to see real tears on his cheeks. "Love, what do you remember?"

"Let's save that for the debriefing, shall we?" Ratchet's gruff voice says from the door. "Primus knows she doesn't need to relive it more than necessary."

It's a good thought. But Ratchet knows as well as I do that I'm going to be reliving my latest adventure for a long time to come.

The medic walks in, a frown on his elegant forehead. He's followed by the ever-exquisite Prowl, and a serious-looking Optimus Prime. First Aid shifts his grip on me and sits down behind my back, pulling me against his chest.

Optimus walks up to stand next to my bed. "Hello, Isobel. I'm so sorry for what you went through."

"You weren't the one holding the shock probe," I murmur, looking down. A bit ashamed, because part of me feels that yes, this is Optimus's fault. He should have _found_ me, God dammit. He should have found me.

A slender but strong hand reaches out, touches my shoulder. "I am sorry. I would have done pretty much anything to spare you this."

That takes my anger and resentment away, because I know it's true. If he could have placed himself in my shoes, he would have. So I take his hand and squeeze it.

Prowl reaches out, takes my other hand. "We're so glad to have you back, Isobel," he says softly. "It's been... I don't even know how to express it."

"It's been the pit," Ratchet supplies helpfully, picking up my chart.

Prowl chuckles. "Accurate. Yes, it's been the pit. We're so glad to finally have you back where you belong."

"Not as glad as I am," I reply truthfully.

"I bet. Now, I'm sorry to have to ask you this already, but we need this information as soon as possible. Would you be up for a debriefing tomorrow mid-day?"

I nod, grateful for the warmth of First Aid at my back and Optimus's hand in mine. I am not looking forward to that. But it needs to be done.

"Good," Prowl says, making a note on his datapad. "I'll have someone come get you, okay?" He looks up, gives me a warm smile. "I am very glad to have you back with us."

"How do you feel, sparklet?" Ratchet asks, putting my chart down. I pretend not to notice the way Optimus lets his other hand slide down the medic's back to rest around his waist.

"As good as can be expected," I reply truthfully. "But Catherine Hancock's almost as good as you, Ratchet, so I expect I'll make a full physical recovery."

He smirks at the praise. "You bet you will." He walks around the bed to look at the machines I'm hooked up to, running a hand down Optimus's arm as he escapes his hold, squeezing his fingers briefly.

I can't not react to that. Not when Optimus looks like someone just handed him a treasure. And not when it's such a relief to see this again, when I never thought I would.

"You two are so darn cute," I grin.

Ratchet flashes me a quick smirk. "I am not 'cute'."

"I can be cute, though," Optimus replies with a small smile, and Prowl chuckles. "I've been called worse. I've called myself worse, too."

That reminds me. "Optimus, First Aid said that Sunstreaker was the one who lost me."

"Yes," Optimus sighs. "I'm afraid so."

"Then he needs to come see me. As soon as possible."

"Sunstreaker's in the brig," Prowl says quietly. "When we finally got news of where you were, he went berserk. He fought his way through Arcee, Cliffjumper and Smokescreen, landing them all in the medbay, before his brother and Ironhide managed to restrain him. He was pit-bent on getting to you."

I blink. Poor Sunstreaker. "That makes it even more important that he come see me."

"What are you thinking, sparklet?" Ratchet asks, still poring over my readings.

"The same thing you are," I reply evenly. "Right now, and probably for however long I was gone, Sunstreaker is beating himself up over losing me. He considers this proof that he's not good enough, careful enough, strong enough, _Autobot_ enough. And I'm not going to sit here and let him dig himself even deeper into his own personal hell."

First Aid nuzzles my neck at that. "That's my Isobel."

Optimus nods. "I think you know us better than we do ourselves."

"Some of us, at least," Ratchet snorts, smirking at him.

I share a small grin with Optimus. Yeah right.

"I think I can let him out on leave," Prowl says. "He'll need to be escorted here, though."

"I want to talk to him alone," I protest. "He won't open up in company, you know that."

Optimus nods. "You are right. His escort will wait outside - we know Sunstreaker won't harm you. Now I believe we should let you get some rest. Ratchet?"

Oh my God, the way he says his name. I'm surprised Ratchet's not wrapped around him already. But he's just nodding with a last glance at the machines. "Yes. I want another word with Catherine Hancock, but you're welcome to come along." Then he walks past Optimus to the door. Only when he gets there does he turn, arch an eyebrow at the Prime, and say "Well? Are you coming?

And Optimus grins at me, and follows Ratchet as though the medic has a line attached to the Prime's torso and is tugging him along through sheer force of presence. I try to suppress a giggle and fail miserably. Prowl smiles wryly at me, leaning over and squeezing my hand.

Laughing feels so good. Especially with First Aid chuckling behind me, arms tightening carefully around my midriff, mouth pressing against my neck.

And then Ratchet storms back in, frowning. "Isobel. Did you say that you actually don't know how long you were gone for?"

Prowl turns towards me, looking surprised. First Aid pulls back and stares at me.

I shake my head slowly. "I can account for the first eleven days, when Swindle fed me daily, after that it's a blur." I blink as the full implications hit me. "Huh. I don't know what day it is. I don't even know what season it is." I look up at Ratchet, suddenly very close to panic. "Do I know what year it is?"

"Shhh, relax, love, it's not that bad," First Aid murmurs in my ear. "You were gone for thirty-nine days. And three hours."

"A bit over one Earth month," Ratchet confirms, looking at me. "Good thing it wasn't longer, or they would have starved you to death."

I feel a chill run up my spine at that, and First Aid's arms tighten around me.

"Ratchet? Are you coming?" Optimus puts his head back through the door.

Ratchet smiles slightly and walks back to the dark-haired holoform. "Right behind you, Optimus."

They really look to be doing well together. Idly, I wonder if Ratchet's let himself be weak with Optimus yet.

"I'll send Sunstreaker to you tomorrow morning," Prowl promises. Then, surprisingly, in a move that's more like his mate, he leans in and kisses my forehead. "Anything we can do for you, just let us know." Then he fades away.

"I'm planning to make up for every moment of those 939 hours," First Aid murmurs in my ear. "And I'm not leaving your side again."

"That sounds good," I whisper back, leaning against him, closing my eyes tiredly. The full impact of this hasn't hit me before now – I was too busy surviving to consider how I was going to live afterwards. Now reality comes crashing down. "First Aid… I'm going to need your help to get past this too. I'm not going to manage on my own. I don't even want to try – I've seen too many soldiers go down that way." I giggle quietly, darkly. "I'll try my best not to accumulate any more mental trauma that you have to help me with, I promise."

The irony of the whole thing isn't lost on me. I'll be working my way out of the very same thing that took my brother, that I've been treating in soldiers for my entire career, as well as dealing with the leftover reactions from Vale's assault.

I hope I can manage better than some of my past patients, at least.

"I love you, Isobel," First Aid replies simply. "I'll be beside you every step of the way."

"Start now?" I whisper, looking up at him. "Don't leave me alone in the dark?"

He kisses my forehead. "Sleep, love. I'll be right here."

* * *

When I wake up again, it's clearly morning. The light's coming through the window behind me, illuminating the corners of the sparse room. There's a knock on the door, then another one, and I realize that's what woke me.

First Aid gently disentangles himself from behind me – he must have spent all night back there – and moves to open the door.

Sunstreaker's standing outside. First Aid moves aside to let him in, and then shoots me a smile. "I'll go get your breakfast, love."

Sunstreaker eyes him cautiously before moving towards the bed. As First Aid closes the door, his focus shifts to me. "So you're back."

"I'm back," I confirm, looking him over.

He doesn't look too good. Or, no, he looks fantastic, as usual, but it's a dark, grim beauty, a wounded, hurt look that makes him look both weary and vulnerable.

"So I hear that you're the one who had hold of me last," I say. He clenches his jaw and looks away. "I'm betting you blame yourself for that," I continue. "In fact, I'm fairly sure you've spent the last month doing nothing but going over every moment to see what you did wrong to fail like that. What's wrong with you that you could fail like that."

He's still not looking at me, but I can tell by his posture that I'm right. Every inch of him is radiating tension.

"You know who I blame?" I ask softly. His only response is a minute shrug. "I blame whoever hit you." The earns me a look, a flat stare under one raised eyebrow. Disbelief, Sunstreaker-style.

So I nod before carrying on. "I blame whoever managed to get such a hit in that my strongest defender ended up on the ground and losing track of me. I want to tear that 'Con's plating from his protoform."

Sunstreaker's looking at me with a more open expression now. He almost looks… afraid. Afraid to believe what I'm saying, I'd bet. If I could walk, this is when I would get off the bed and walk over to him. But I can't, so I just beckon him closer. Thankfully, he comes – hesitantly, like a kicked dog, but he comes.

"You're still my strongest defender, Sunstreaker," I murmur, sitting up and reaching out to take his hand and tug him flush against the side of the bed. "You're my shield. You're a brother to me. And you're not broken simply because someone managed to get past you, okay?"

He looks everywhere, fighting to not meet my eyes, before drawing a deep, stuttering breath. "It was Menasor," he replies quietly. "The Stunticon gestalt. I went down hard. And when I got back up, you were gone. I couldn't find you." And then he meets my eyes, and there's so much emotion in there that it almost hurts to watch. His voice is hitching. "I looked, but I couldn't find you."

"I know," I murmur, pulling him down to sit on the bed so I can lean up against his chest. "It's not your fault that you couldn't find me. I was already gone by then. You would have found me if I was still there." I say the last with complete conviction.

"How can you be so sure," he replies brokenly. "You can't know that."

"I do know that," I reply, leaning my forehead against his and looking into his eyes. "I know that there's no force in the universe that would have stopped you finding me if I'd been there. I have faith in you, Sunstreaker."

Slowly, as if asking for permission, he drops his head down along my cheek to rest his forehead against my shoulder. "I'm so sorry I lost you, Isobel." His voice is broken, hollow, and I can't help but putting my arms around him, crooning soft words to him in much the same way as First Aid handled me yesterday.

Sunstreaker leans into the embrace, hands coming up tentatively to rest on my back.

He's such a conundrum sometimes. Aloof, arrogant, beautiful, insecure, self-doubting, hesitant, lonely. Keeping everyone but his brother at arm's length, letting no one in but still craving the trust, the acceptance.

I let one hand rest on his neck, cradling him closer.

"Are you okay?" I ask softly.

He twists his head until his face is burrowed against my neck. "Depends. Are you?"

"I will be," I confirm, "in time."

"What can I do?" The question is quiet, almost inaudible, and strangely hesitant.

So I do what comes naturally. I hold him as close as physically possible and press a kiss to his hair, as if he was a child. "You can be here next to me. Be my shield. I'm going to need one."

He nods, exhaling softly against the skin of my neck, and gradually his tense muscles relax under my fingers.

First Aid walks back in quietly, carrying a tray. Sunstreaker doesn't move away from me.

"Ironhide and Trailbreaker are waiting outside, blocking in Sunstreaker's alt mode," my Protectobot says softly. "Ironhide says to just have Sunstreaker dismiss his holoform when you're done. They'll escort him back then."

"I'm not sending Sunny away," I reply sternly. I noticed how the golden twin stiffened in my arms at First Aid's words. "I'm keeping him here for as long as he wants to be, or until someone comes in and tells me I have to let him go."

Sunstreaker's arms tighten around me, and I run my hand across his head soothingly.

"Then he'll stay until someone comes to escort you to the debriefing." First Aid sits down next to me with the tray. "Feel like eating? Catherine's got your diet under special management. Since you haven't eaten properly in nearly a month, we have to start slowly."

"I thought you looked thinner," Sunstreaker mumbles against my skin. "I can feel your ribs."

"You can likely feel every bone in my body," I reply, running a hand through his hair. "I don't look forward to the next time I see a mirror, to say it like that." I turn to First Aid, stretch out an arm that – now that I'm looking – is way too thin inside the hospital gown. "Gimme."

First Aid smiles, passing me a cup of something and a spoon. I look down at it critically. "Pudding?"

"Doctor's orders," he confirms. "Need help?"

I shift a bit, trying to encourage Sunstreaker to move without actually telling him to. He won't respond favorably if I ask him to go away – he's not in a good place right now. There's a reason he's clinging to me like this.

Plus, I'm kind of enjoying it. It's like it was before, when First Aid got me to accept his touch again after what Vale did; there's no way I can forget where I'm at or who I'm with when Sunstreaker's holding me like this. The kind touch is heaven.

Still, I can't really eat like this. And he doesn't show any signs of letting go. "Sunstreaker," I hum at him. "I need you to slide down a bit, brother."

He grunts, but loosens his grip. His head moves from the crook of my neck, sliding down across my chest – it's less of a bumpy ride than it was a month ago, I can tell I don't fill out my bras anymore - until he's in my lap, arms around my waist.

"Thanks," I croon, maneuvering my arms free until I can actually eat.

The white-ish stuff in the cup tastes bland, has a funny consistency, and doesn't smell of anything. It seems designed to be harmless in every way. Still, I can only manage about half the cup before my stomach rebels and I thrust both cup and spoon at First Aid.

"Yeah, Catherine was afraid that might happen," he murmurs, taking it away and putting it on my nightstand. "We can try again in a while. Try to keep it down, love."

I nod, close my eyes and lean back. Focus on the silky textures of Sunstreaker's hair under my hand, his warmth down my right side. First Aid pushes me forward gently and crawls in behind me. When I open my eyes to shoot him a questioning look, he just smiles at me. "I'm not leaving you alone, love. Not if I can help it."

I can live with that. After a few moments, my eyes drift shut and I fall asleep there, sandwiched and safe between them.

* * *

I come to again to gentle lips kissing my cheek. It's so pleasant that for few moments I refuse to wake up, keeping my eyes resolutely closed and my breathing even.

"Isobel," First Aid murmurs. "Wake up, love. We need to get you ready for the debriefing."

Uh-uh. No thanks. I think I'll stay like this. A debriefing isn't worth moving for.

Someone's arms tighten around my waist, and there's nuzzling against my stomach. "I have to go," Sunstreaker murmurs. "Ironhide's pinging me. I'll see you at the debriefing, Isobel." Then the weight across my hips, the comforting warmth, the safe arms around me, all that vanishes.

It's so sudden that I whimper, and First Aid pulls me closer. "Shh, love. He had to go. Open your eyes for me."

His coaxing tones are hard to resist, and combined with the continuing kisses and the gentle, prodding movement to get me upright, I'm soon sitting up with the rest of my pale pudding in my hand and a disgruntled expression on my face.

"Eat," First Aid says, smiling at me. "Catherine's coming by in a moment."

I take another spoonful of bland, swallowing. The stuff grows in my throat, the epitome of nasty suddenly, and I know I can't get it down. No way.

So I hand it back to First Aid. "Something else? Please?"

He frowns, looks at the tray he carried in earlier.

"Give her one of the biscuits," Catherine says, walking into the room. "And the water, with one of those effervescent tablets in it. Hello, Isobel. Did you manage to sleep?"

Not 'did you sleep well'. Not 'how are you doing'. Catherine knows how things really are.

"Yes," I reply, nibbling gratefully on the dry biscuit First Aid hands me. "I slept."

"Good," she says briskly. "Because if not, I would have had to sedate you. You need to rest."

"If I don't manage to eat, will you put a tube down my throat?" I take a sip of the bubbly water.

"If I must, yes," she agrees. "As it is, you're on an IV to maintain your fluid balance and dispense your medicines." She checks the lines and monitors meticulously. "It's a good thing your lover is a medic _and_ an ambulance, and that Ratchet will be present at the debriefing, or I wouldn't let you leave. You're not fit to be up and about."

"Why not?" I ask, curious. I don't feel that bad, minus the immobile knee. And the lack of energy. And the whole psychological repercussions deal.

"Because you're still in borderline kidney failure," she replies firmly, "and because you have micro-fractures in your bloody neck. If you were a normal patient, I would have you in casts and braces from your hairline to your knees, and you would not be moving at all."

Oh.

Well, that does explain it.

"I'd prefer to not even have you sitting upright," she continues. "Not with the damages to your neck and spine. As it is, you'll be spending most of the day on a portable gurney, hooked up to IVs, machinery and painkillers, and the others will just have to bear it."

I look from my fingers, where there used to be a biscuit, to Catherine. "Wait. Most of the day? Will it take that long?"

"For everything to be compared, yes," First Aid nods, putting another biscuit in my hand. "It's not just you, love. It's Jazz, Arcee and the twins, talking about the trip up to San Francisco and the attack. It's Prowl, explaining what was done when you were confirmed missing. It's Blaster, detailing the incoming call from Swindle, when we finally learned where you were. And it's Ratchet, telling everyone just exactly what was done to you."

Suddenly I'm not that comfortable anymore. This is going to be a bitch of a day. I curl up as much as I'm able, arms hugging my torso, teeth worrying at my lower lip.

First Aid notices, of course. He always does. And then he's behind me again

"Easy, love," he croons. "Someone will be beside you all the time. You won't be left alone, I promise."

That gets my attention, and I uncurl enough to turn and look at him. "Someone. Not you?"

"Not all the time, love," he replies, shaking his head with a tinge of sadness. "I have to mind the medbay while Ratchet is in the debriefing. But someone will be there, I promise."

"That room will be full of people who love you," Catherine says, squeezing my hand softly. "You have no idea of how many of them I've had to chase out of here in the last two days. Don't worry."

Easier said than done. I munch at my third biscuit – and I don't even remember eating the second one – while First Aid murmurs comforting words in my ear and Catherine busies herself with checking machinery, IV lines, stitches and bandages.

Then First Aid smirks. "Brace yourself, Isobel. Here they come."

"Here who comes?" I ask, pausing in the act of licking crumbs off my fingers.

He doesn't have to specify it. I can hear them. I tense up, pressing back against First Aid, as the sound of running footsteps comes closer and closer.

"Easy," he says, hands rubbing my arms comfortingly. "It's just Streetwise and Alice."

No sooner are the words out of his mouth, before the door bursts open to let the little redhead in. She slides to a stop when she sees me, mouth slack with shock.

"Oh my God," she breathes. "Oh, _Isobel_."

And then I'm assaulted in the best way, as Alice throws her arms around me and doesn't let go.

"Mind her neck!" Catherine snaps, pulling at Alice's arms brusquely until she's got the soldier's arms where she wants them. "Honestly, you'd think I was surrounded by careless ingrates. She's got fractures in her blooming neck, she doesn't need you making them worse."

"Sorry," Alice says sheepishly. "Isobel, I'm so glad you're back."

"Yeah, I got that," I grin, but I hug her back.

"Hey, Isobel," Streetwise murmurs, leaning in and kissing my forehead. "You're a sight for sore eyes."

"Even when you look like crap," Alice supplies, winking. "And I've brought something to help with that." She turns to Streetwise then, giving the blond Protectobot a stern look. "Out, honey. We have girl stuff to do."

"We do?" I can feel my eyebrows climbing.

"Yes," she confirms, leaning over to prod First Aid. "You too, Aid."

"No," he says quietly, cradling me closer. "I'm not leaving."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Alice snorts. "We're just going to get her cleaned up and dressed. Can't you give her that much decency?"

I can feel him turning towards her. "Decency?"

"Yes," Alice shoots back. "Isobel, would you prefer being showered and washed and dressed up with First Aid staring at you the whole time, or would you rather he waited outside?"

I don't know what to say. On the one hand, I don't need Aid seeing me like that. Besides, it would be good to get back to some semblance of normalcy, and my own clothes will help.

Kicking him out, though? That's hard. One of the hardest things I can imagine doing.

"Tell you what," my mind-reader Protectobot says. "The rest of you leave. I will get her cleaned up. And then I will wait outside with Streetwise for ten minutes while you dress her. Sound good?"

"That still leaves her with you doing the embarrassing stuff," Alice points out.

"It's not embarrassing," I whisper, shaking my head. "I need First Aid. He can't leave."

Alice looks doubtful, but Catherine nods slowly. "Okay then. Shower's through there. You know what to not jostle. Take care with that knee."

First Aid nods, disconnecting me from most of the machinery. He leaves only the IV in my arm. "I'll let Streets know when you two can come back inside."

Alice is still frowning at him, but she follows willingly enough when Catherine tugs at her.

First Aid picks me up carefully, cradling me against his chest. I let my head lean against him with a grateful sigh.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he prompts, walking into the bathroom with me and putting me down on a stool in the shower corner.

"I'd love to wash my hair," I reply. "And… just the hot water sounds nice." I feel filthy everywhere, the dirt and dust of the 'Con base a crust on my skin. I know he can't wash all of me, since I had surgery this morning, but he knows which parts of me to avoid better than I do. "Please, just get me clean."

He hums in response, unbuttoning the hospital gown and tugging it off. Without it, I'm naked.

Through a truly evil fluke of architectural design, I can see myself in the bathroom mirror. It's a ghastly sight.

I've still got angry red marks crisscrossing my hips and torso, along with the large nasty bruises across my ribs from where Thrust kicked me. My face is bruised and scratched, and the fact that it looks worse than it feels is not much of a comfort. I'm also really skinny – I can see every rib, my breasts are just gone, my cheeks are hollow, my hip bones protruding. My hair - what's left of it after Catherine cut off most of it on one side to get to my cuts – is limp and lanky, the color and consistency of straw, and my eyes look too big in my face.

"First Aid," I choke, and that's all I have to say.

He kneels down, cradles my face in his hands. "Isobel," he murmurs. "I love you. More than I've ever loved anything. This doesn't change that. You'll heal. You'll get your strength back, I promise. And I'll be next to you every step of the way."

He pulls me close then, embracing me and warming me up, as I lose control again and sob into his neck for what seems like an eternity.

Finally, I manage to sit up, wiping at my eyes with my hands. "We're going to be late for the debriefing."

"We have plenty of time, love. Besides, they won't begin without you." He smiles, taps his temple with a finger. "I'm in touch with command. Prowl says that the most important thing is that you're comfortable."

I smile a bit at that. It's good to know that they'll always have my back. Even if they didn't know where to find me and left me in Decepticon claws for five weeks.

I'm not going to be upset and angry with the Autobots for that. I'm not. I'll just keep telling myself that until it's true.

First Aid turns the water on, aiming the nozzle away from me until the water is nice and warm. Then he lets the water flow over my body.

It's perfect bliss, and I sigh with pleasure. The water is taking so much tension away with it that I'm surprised I'm still upright.

First Aid is so very gentle with me. His touch is perfect – soft, soothing, and I'm half asleep even as I move the way he tells me to, let him maneuver my limbs to get me clean. When he finally turns the water off and towels me dry with the biggest, softest towel I've ever encountered, I'm only partially there in my body. I barely notice as he picks me up again, putting me back on the bed.

I notice when Alice comes barging back inside, though. Hard not to.

"Okay, our turn, you wait outside First Aid," she says quickly, grinning at him. "Streetwise got you some energon, I don't think you've refueled today."

That wakes me up. I frown at First Aid. "You need to refuel."

"Don't worry about me, I'll refuel later," he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. Then he embraces me again. "I'll be right outside," he says fiercely. "Shout, and I will hear you, and I will come running."

Then he kisses me. It's the first time he's done so since I woke up yesterday, our first kiss in over a month, and I melt into it.

All too soon, it's over. I almost whimper as he walks out the door. My heartrate accelerates, my breathing becomes uneven, black spots appear in my vision –

"Calm down, Isobel," Catherine says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "He's just outside. Look, the door's not even closed. If you're quiet, you can hear them talking."

I make a mammoth effort, and manage to ease the pounding in my ears to the point where I can actually hear First Aid and Streetwise talking in the hallway outside my room. Catherine nods encouragingly as my breathing slows.

"There you go. That's it," Alice croons, gently pulling a thin sweater over my head. "There you go. You're all right."

They don't dawdle. They can't, because I'm already freaking out, even with them there.

It's going to take me a while before my headspace is back in good order.

First Aid comes back well before the ten minutes are up, just as Catherine fastens a brace around my neck.

"There," she says softly. "Now. No walking. No standing. You stay on that gurney unless Ratchet gives you permission to move."

"Okay," I reply. With this brace on I can't really nod.

"Are you ready, love?" First Aid asks, tilting my chin up until I'm looking into his eyes.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, even though I'm really not. "Never going to get readier." That, at least, is the truth.

First Aid stares into my eyes for a never-ending second, then nods. "Let's go, love."

They get me onto a gurney, Alice chatting eagerly away at me the whole time, and wheel me outside. Streetwise kisses my forehead again before fading away. First Aid carefully pushes the gurney with me in it into his ambulance alt mode, and then sits next to me in the back as we drive, holding my hand.

Keeping the terrors at bay for a while longer.

Not that it's going to help in the long run.

The ambulance turns and slows down, and my heartbeat speeds up. First Aid squeezes my hand, and the ambulance doors open.

And I suddenly have an armful of Bumblebee.

"Isobel," he groans, pulling me tight enough that my ribs hurt. "Primus, we've missed you. You have no idea how good it is to see you back."

"I love you too, Bee, but ow," I wince, trying to pry him loose. "Broken ribs, here."

"Sorry," he apologizes, letting go of my torso to cradle my face instead. He presses his forehead against mine. "We really are relieved to have you back, though."

"Not as glad as I am to be back," I reply with feeling. "We?"

"Yeah," he grins, pulling back. "We."

I look past him as First Aid wheels the gurney out.

Every single Autobot is here.

Wheeljack reaches out to squeeze my hand, Silverbolt right behind him. Skyfire and the rest of the Aerialbots. Hot Spot and Groove both lean in and kiss my forehead, Blades behind them to give me a hug. Arcee, holding me close for several minutes, wiping the tears away as she lets go. Blaster and the cassettes, Cliffjumper, Smokescreen. Mirage and Hound, Mirage looking relieved and upset at the same time. Trailbreaker, Bluestreak, Ironhide, Chromia.

The distinctly human touch of Parker Jamieson, braving the crowd to welcome me back.

Sideswipe, pressing his forehead against mine, whispering something I can't make out. Jazz, his arms around my neck, face pressed against my hair, kissing me.

I've got tears running down my cheeks by the time Ratchet and Prowl show up.

"Okay, okay, give my patient some space," the medic says gruffly. He runs quick fingers across my neck, down my ribs. "Are you okay, sparklet?"

"I'm okay," I whisper, wiping the tears away with trembling fingers. "Just overwhelmed and really, really happy to be back."

He nods at that. "I'd tell them all to back off, but it won't work. They're too happy you're back."

"Isobel," Prowl says softly. "Are you ready?"

I take a deep breath. "Not even remotely. But let's go."

I'm wheeled away from First Aid's alt mode and towards a long, low building. Inside, there's a meeting room of sorts, with space set aside for my gurney. As I'm rolled to my spot, Optimus enters through another door, and he's got a familiar figure following him.

"Hello, dr. Harrington," William Lennox says.

"Hey, colonel," I reply. "Long time no see."

"That's military life for you," he says, a little half-smile on his face. "I hear you got into some trouble while I wasn't looking." A finger comes up, pokes my arm. "Thought I told you that you weren't supposed to be fighting."

"Oh, I obey orders," I grin, because this black humor suits me. "I promise, sir, I did no fighting. I have not yet fought a Decepticon." I wink. "Though I may have sassed them a bit."

"Sassing the enemy's a time-honored tradition," he agrees. "Still, you're not cleared for actual combat duty. Try to not let it happen again."

"Sir, yes sir," I reply, saluting lazily. Lennox smirks, gives my hand a squeeze and walks back to take a chair near Optimus.

And I'm suddenly calmer. I don't know if that was his intent, but as the room fills up gradually with known faces I realize that my heartbeat's back to normal, and I'm not that nervous anymore. I can do this.

"Isobel?" First Aid says softly.

I nod. "I'm ready."

It's time to relive my nightmare.


	28. The whole story

"Thank you all for coming," Optimus begins. "Some of you have heard these reports already, but as colonel Lennox and doctor Harrington have yet to hear these accounts we will hear some of them over again. We will do this at Isobel's pace, and take breaks when she needs them."

I'm kind of happy about that. It's going to be a long day.

"If everyone's ready?" Optimus looks from face to face, waiting for objections that don't come. "Good. Jazz, if you'll begin."

I sink back into my pillow as I listen to the dark holoform. He's talking about our trip up the coast, and I remember most of that – Sunstreaker allowing Jazz to play loud music over the comms, so he could blast me with the noise; Jazz and Sideswipe one-upping each other, mock-racing down the road; Arcee weaving gracefully between the other Autobots, making a four-mech obstacle course out of them.

Of course, Jazz doesn't tell it quite like that. There's less focus on the sheer fun of driving and more focus on where we were at which times. I guess that's more important today.

"We were approachin' San Francisco," Jazz says, and I begin paying better attention. I can't remember this. "We had about an hour or so t' go, when our sensors picked up Decepticon signals. We didn' want t' drag the human traffic inta that, an' with Isobel aboard we figured it was best t' avoid 'em anyway, so we left the main road and headed down t'wards th' coast. They caught us on the fly, though.

"We'd gotten off the highway and were headin' down towards one of th' bridges crossin' the sound when they appeared. The Coneheads came first, and we didn' have cover on that side of th' bridge, so we sped up t' get across b'fore they could pin us. We didn' quite make it."

He looks at me then, with a hesitant expression. So I nod at him. Go on, Jazz, I can take it.

"The Stunticons pinned us on th' bridge, forcin' us t' transform," Jazz continues. "They combined and formed Menasor, while th' Coneheads flew overhead, strafin' us. Ah yelled for Sunstreaker and Arcee t' mind Isobel, while Cliffjumper and myself hit Menasor hard. Sideswipe was firin' at the coneheads."

He smiles, then, but there's no joy in it. "Menasor's fraggin' insane, though, and massive. 'Jumper got thrown into th' rocks at the end of th' bridge, and Ah could tell he wasn' getting' back up anytime soon. So Arcee attacked Menasor wi' me. Next Ah looked, Sideswipe was rammin' Ramjet inta the rocks as well, jumpin' clear just b'fore impact." He smirks at the frontliner holoform, sitting across for him, and Sideswipe grins back. "It was a good hit, m'mech."

The smile turns into a frown, and he leans back against the chair back. I'm sure the fact that Prowl's hand is already resting there of course is a complete coincidence. "Menasor knocked me down hard enough t' take me offline f'r a moment. When Ah looked up next, fraggin' combiner had pummeled Sunstreaker inta the ground. Arcee was attackin' him, and eventually managed t' break him apart, manglin' Breakdown t' the point that Motormaster had t' haul 'im away. Ah managed t' shoot down Dirge, then, since the slagger got careless, and Cliffjumper and Sideswipe came tearin' right at the rest o' the Stunties, and suddenly they retreated, for once takin' the injured with'em. We were mostly okay, though 'Jumper's right arm and shoulder had taken a pummelin' and Sunstreaker's back was a complete mess and we all had torn platin' and broken lines, but the worst was…" Another deep breath, another leaning back into his mate. "The worst was that we'd lost Isobel somehow."

He looks directly at me then. "We searched. We searched the bridge, and the rocks, callin' and shoutin' for ya, but ya was gone. When we'd been up there for long enough that reinforcements arrived in the form o' Ratchet, Bumblebee n' Optimus, the light was failin' an' we had t' call it off."

I nod, trying to look like I understand. I'm not entirely sure what look is on my face, though.

"Thank you, Jazz," Optimus says. "We'll move on. Sunstreaker has gotten leave from his brig time to participate here today. Sunstreaker, if you would?"

"Yes sir," the frontliner replies. His voice is quiet, halting. "Well, it's as Jazz said. We were good for a while. Isobel was riding with me, we decided that before we left. When the Decepticons showed up…" His voice hitched, and I turn slightly to look at him.

The golden twin's holoform is sitting slumped in his chair, looking down at his hands. They're folded together in his lap, knuckles white. His dark hair, curling as always on his neck and around his ears, is hanging down enough to hide his eyebrows. He looks destroyed.

"When the 'Cons showed up, I sped up. I tried to get ahead of them, to get her to safety, but I wasn't fast enough. The Coneheads were shooting at us, we were pinned. I had to transform." He straightens slightly. "I transformed around her, keeping her close to my chest like this – " a hand moves up, cradling an imaginary small frail thing against golden chest plates "- I curled around her, so she'd be safe from the shots, Arcee and Sideswipe were shielding us. But then it all went wrong."

Sideswipe lifts his hand towards his twin hesitantly, as if to touch. He pulls back at the last minute. Sunstreaker takes a deep breath.

"The Coneheads were getting too close, so Sides jumped them, and Arcee went to help Jazz out when 'Jumper got thrown. I stayed, crouching down, taking the shots across my back to keep them away from her, but then Menasor got past Jazz and I had to – I had to move, because he was coming for us, and Isobel was clinging to my finger and crying, and I tried to shoot at him, I did, but he's just so fragging big –" he stops suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut, and this time Sideswipe's hand lands on his shoulder. Sunstreaker leans into the contact, and I realize I'm upright myself, reaching for him. He's too far away for me to get at him, though.

"Menasor attacked me," Sunstreaker continues, and now his voice is a dull monotone. "I twisted away from him to keep my frame between him and Isobel, but he knocked me down. I tried to keep her cradled close, but I had to turn so I didn't land on her, and somehow – I couldn't – I could hear her screaming, and I – I think I lost her, I could just hear the scream, and Menasor was tearing plating from my back but I tried to crawl away, I tried to follow her, but she –" he pulls a deep, shuddering breath, and I'm sure he's fighting back sobs now. I can see it in the tense set of his shoulders. "She was gone," he finishes limply. He leans against his brother, closing his eyes.

"We looked," Sideswipe says then. I'm sure he's speaking for his brother – Sunstreaker doesn't seem to be up to explaining anymore. "Sunstreaker looked everywhere, only stopping when Ratchet put him in stasis to repair his back. We searched the rocks, the bridge, looked everywhere. She was gone."

Sunstreaker keels over into Sideswipe's lap, and I lean so far forward I almost topple out of my hospital bed. "Sunstreaker…"

Prowl sees. I'm starting to think there's nothing that gets past him. First Aid might be able to see into my head at times, but Prowl sees everything that goes on. "Optimus, I think a break is needed," he says quietly.

"Yes, of course," the Prime replies. "Everyone, take fifteen minutes. Please clear the room, if you will."

"Sunstreaker," I whisper again, and as most of the other holoforms fade away and Lennox slides his chair back and walks out, he pushes to his feet noisily and stumbles over to collapse into my lap.

"I'm sorry," he moans into my stomach, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Isobel, I'm –"

"Shh," I whisper, embracing him. "Shh, Sunny. Not your fault."

"I'll be right outside," First Aid whispers, kissing my forehead. Then he fades away, too.

I guess he realized that, despite my sudden need to stay close to him, this is a private moment. Because Sunstreaker's crying now. He's sobbing in my lap. I can feel my own tears running down my cheeks. Even Sideswipe, standing a few meters away, has tears in his eyes.

So I reach out a hand to him, too. He might not have been the one who was actually carrying me at the time, but he's been taking care of his brother and had a share in his misery for the last forty days. He's just as heartbroken as Sunstreaker is.

I get the proof of that in how easily he folds down next to his brother, one hand around Sunstreaker and the other around my waist.

"She's safe, bro," he whispers. "She's okay. She'll be fine. I love you, Sunny. You're okay. You're good."

For a while, I'm just clung to while Sunstreaker cries himself out. Sideswipe's hand is moving on his brother's back, stroking gently.

When Sunstreaker finally quietens, Sideswipe pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together. "You're mine," he whispers fiercely. "I adore you. You're not broken, not ruined. I can feel that pit in you, Sunstreaker, but you're not that. You're a good mech. The best."

I just keep my hands on both of them, one in Sunny's hair and the other on Sideswipe's back. Sideswipe knows best how to get his brother out of this.

"I love you," Sideswipe continues in the same intense tones. "I know how strong you are. And now that Isobel's back –" he closes his eyes, grinning, pressing even closer to his brother "- I plan to take advantage of that."

And then he kisses him. In my lap.

It's so surreal, I don't know what to do.

Especially as Sunstreaker moans, pushing closer to his twin, letting his free hand roam across Sideswipe's back. His other arm is still around me, but I can feel that the brothers are now holding hands behing my back.

When Sideswipe's shirt melts away and Sunstreaker's fingers are moving on bare skin, I feel the need to clear my throat. And take my hand off him.

Nothing happens. I have a feeling that they've forgotten where they are. And on whom.

"Guys," I scold them gently, "as hot as you are to look at, I'd rather not be a passive participant of a threesome."

Sideswipe breaks the kiss, then, but doesn't pull away from Sunstreaker. They stay forehead to forehead, chest to chest, but I know the repentant grin is for me. "That's right, you're taken now. Sorry, babe."

"I'm not," Sunstreaker says, pressing closer to his brother needily. "Want you, Sides," he whines.

"You'll have me, bro," Sideswipe replies, lifting his hand to cradle his brother's face possessively. "As soon as you're done with your brig time, I'm taking you to berth and not leaving for at least three days."

Sunstreaker makes a needy noise deep in his throat again, chases his brother's lips. It drives me insane.

"Okay, I love you both, but I'm pretty sure this is not what Ratchet and Catherine meant when they told me to stay still and relax. You guys are so hot that you're heating me up, and I'm stuck on berth rest for the foreseeable future until my neck's healed! So knock it off!"

"Poor Isobel," Sideswipe chuckles, finally extricating himself from his brother and pushing up to kiss my cheek. "We get her all hot and bothered, and she can't even self-service."

"She's got a medic on call, I bet he's got skilled fingers," Sunstreaker grumbles, but I'm thrilled to see the small smirk on his face.

"Now, you know I can't touch her like that until all her micro-fractures have healed," First Aid's voice says, and damn this brace, because I can't even turn my head to see him. I reach for him though, echoing Sunstreaker's needy whine.

First Aid takes pity on me, walking around the gurney and leaning in to kiss me. "Hello, love," he croons, and I melt.

"You're not helping," I sulk. Sideswipe grins widely.

"Heh. I guess not. I really can't touch you, though. Not until we're sure the fractures won't get worse. At worst, if you aggravate them enough, you could end up with serious neck injuries. So I can't." His lips move down my jawline towards my ear. "Much as I want to."

"You're all set out to torment me," I thunder, and they just grin at me. "If you're not going to be helpful, then at least stop that. I'm supposed to concentrate in a few minutes."

Sunstreaker stands up and reaches for his brother, and I have to look away. Thankfully, First Aid is there, and he's not holding back when I tangle my hands into his hair and pull him down to kiss him.

"All right, you lovesick younglings, knock it off." The gruff tones are Ironhide's, and First Aid breaks the kiss reluctantly.

"I love you," he whispers, letting one finger trail down my throat and across my chest. "Consider this a promise. I'll be there as you heal, and when you're better…" He leans in again, mouth close to my ear. "When you're better, I'll put Sideswipe's three days to shame."

I blush so hard I'm fairly certain it's visible on infra-red. My heart is pounding, and what little blood isn't flooding my cheeks has gone straight to my groin.

Damn Protectobot.

I manage to turn away from him, though, using will-power I wasn't sure I had. The room is filling up again, and Ratchet is smirking at me.

"Since Ratchet is here, I have to go," First Aid says quietly. "Will you be okay? Do you want someone to sit with you?"

"I'll be okay," I reply, though I'm not entirely sure.

He kisses my hair. "That's my Isobel. Any one of the 'Bots here will come over if you need it, okay? Love you."

I turn to kiss him back. "Love you too. I'll see you later?"

"Absolutely." Then he fades away.

I take a deep breath and look back at the room. Arcee's the closest one to me now, she's sitting next to Blaster a few seats down. On the other side, Jazz is sitting in the first occupied seat. He shoots me a quick grin when he notices me looking.

Yeah. I can do this. These are my friends, my family.

"Welcome back," Optimus says. "We'll pick up with Sideswipe's report." He looks directly at me. "Isobel, feel free to interrupt if you're uncomfortable or need anything."

I just nod. "Thanks, Prime. I'm okay."

I turn to look at the twins as Sideswipe speaks. They've put their professional masks back on, but they're sitting much closer together than they were, and Blaster, sitting next to them, looks decidedly uncomfortable.

I bet they're thankful that the long desk in front of them gives such good cover.

I have to fight the giggles down, trying hard to concentrate on what he's saying instead of speculating on what they're actually doing. It's easier to focus when I look away. So instead of looking at the twins, I look at Prowl. I focus on his human hands taking notes on a pad of some sort, and listen.

Sideswipe's pretty much describing the same scenario as Jazz and Sunstreaker have already laid out, until he gets to the end.

"I didn't see the whole thing," he admits, looking down. "I was busy trying to get the slagging Coneheads off their case. But I saw Menasor down Jazz, and I heard Isobel screaming as he approached her and Sunny, but I couldn't get to them in time. I saw Arcee, though, climbing up the gestalt's back – that was awesome, by the way – and then Dirge flew at me and I had to dodge. When next I looked, Menasor was whaling on Sunstreaker." He looks up at me. "I saw Isobel in the air, she'd gotten thrown clear somehow. But when I flew in to get her, that slagging Conehead came at me again. I think I saw her hit the water, though, while I was trying to bring the 'Con down. After that, it was pretty much as the others said."

Sideswipe looks at Optimus, then back at me. "I'm okay," I whisper. I know he can't hear me, but he probably lip-reads well enough.

"I did look in the water," he continues. "But I'm not aquatic. The currents were strong, too. In the end, we had to give it up."

"Thank you, Sideswipe. Arcee, do you have anything to add?"

I lean back in my bed, listening as Arcee and then Cliffjumper make their reports. They don't really say anything I haven't heard already, but I'm starting to appreciate just how hard the 'Bots looked for me and how desperate they were.

I can't really fault them for not finding me anymore. It wasn't for lack of trying.

"Isobel," Optimus says gently. "Ratchet tells me that you can't remember the actual attack. Bearing that in mind, I think we'll hear Prowl's report first, so you can get an impression of what happened here while you were gone." Then he smiles. "Don't worry. I've asked him to be brief."

Prowl shoots him a stern look, but brings out a datapad.

"Yes. Well. Jazz called us with a request for aid, to a location just south of San Francisco. Optimus dispatched himself, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Hound, Smokescreen and the Aerialbots to the scene. We were aware that the Decepticons had sent one trine and one gestalt, but calculations indicated that there would be more of them that simply hadn't made themselves known. We were also concerned about dr. Isobel Harrington's safety. Upon arrival at the scene, we found that –"

I lay back against the pillow, letting my eyes unfocus and just listen as Prowl's smooth, calm voice details every effort they made to find me. Every search. Every scan. Hound, working with the police K-9 units. Streetwise coordinating with SFPD, Groove and Bumblebee following the oceanic currents. Skyfire and the Aerialbots, searching from the air.

They put everything in motion for me.

"Thirteen days after the attack, Jazz and Mirage were deployed to scout the Decepticon base. Their orders were to infiltrate, observe, see if any trace could be found of Isobel or her whereabouts. They were in the base for three days, but couldn't verify that she was there. There was no chatter to indicate that she was, and the brig cells were empty."

Thirteen days. Thirteen blasted days. Two days earlier, and they would have found me in the brig. Instead, they go in after Soundwave's locked me up in that hidden room with no windows and just the one locked door.

It's such a bitter pill to swallow, that they were so close. It's almost more than I can cope with right now.

I guess they notice. Because suddenly Jazz is there, arms cradling me, humming softly into my ear. I tune out most of what Prowl is saying and just listen as the dark holoform croons at me.

It's soothing.

"Isobel."

I open my eyes to see Ratchet scrutinizing me. Then he nods firmly. "Prime, we require another break."

"Take ten, everyone," Prime says, and I smile a bit – it's such a human thing to say. Also, Optimus doesn't even argue. Not that arguing with Ratchet ever did anyone any good.

Ratchet gets up, walks over to me. "Sit up, sparklet. We need to get some nourishment into you."

Jazz eases me up gently, sliding in behind me the same way First Aid did yesterday. He's still humming softly.

Ratchet bends down and pulls a bag out from under my bed. I quirk an eyebrow at that – I hadn't known I was smuggling contraband.

"Here," he says, handing me another of the crackers from this morning. "This one first, and then we'll see what we can get into you." Then he pulls out an IV bag and proceeds to change the almost empty bag for a full one.

I lean back against the third in command, munching on my cracker. When it's gone, Ratchet hands me another one. And then another.

And then, with a smirk, he just hands me the bag. "Don't go overboard. Your stomach's still getting used to food again. What did they feed you, anyway?"

"We'll get t' that, Ratch," Jazz says from behind me. "The answers're comin'."

"Is there anything to drink?" I ask, and Ratchet smiles at me.

Yep. An actual smile.

"Of course there is," he says softly, and now both my eyebrows are climbing. And then I start shaking for some reason, and it takes me a moment to realize that the source of the trembling isn't me, it's the laughing saboteur behind me.

"Who woulda thought," he snickers. "Ratchet needed an injured an' half-starved little human to get his proper bedside manner activated!"

"Mute it, you," the medic replies, good-natured but gruff. "She's just the first one since before the war to deserve it. Here you go, sparklet."

I stare at the bottle he hands me. "It's… pink."

Ratchet nods. "Yes. That it is. And it's good for you, so drink up."

I sniff at the liquid skeptically before taking a sip. "Huh. That's – interesting."

"You just keep sipping on that, sparklet," Ratchet says, sounding very smug, "and nibbling those crackers, and maybe later we can get you a real meal."

Jazz pulls me closer for a moment. "That'd be good – getcha t' feel like your own sweet self again, and not just half o' ya. Ya's way too skinny, Isobel."

I can't but agree to that. "I know. Maybe someone should forward Soundwave my eating regime."

"He's never getting' his hands on you again," Jazz growls dangerously. "So he don't need it."

I kind of agree with that too.

I spend the rest of the break leaning back against Jazz and nibbling my crackers. It's nice, actually. Comfortable.

Of course, it can't last.

"Let's continue," Prime says. He looks at me, blue eyes kind. "Isobel, are you up to telling us about your experience?"

I nod, sitting back up. Jazz follows me and moves to get off the berth, but I manage to snag his hand just as he lets go of me. "Please stay," I whisper, turning towards him. "I can't do this by myself."

He nods, settling in against my back. Ratchet sits down on the foot-end of my bed, watching me.

I take a deep breath. And another.

And then I get it all off my chest at once, just pausing for air.

It's not dissimilar to how Parker Jamieson was talking when she gave her testimony to Catherine a few months back. It's certainly a far cry from Prowl's calm attention to details, or Jazz's eloquence. If anything, I sound more like Sunstreaker – halting, stuttering, hesitating, changing direction mid-sentence. It's a wonder they can make sense of it at all.

I talk until I've run out of words, until my voice is more a croak than anything else, and when I get to Swindle handing me off to Ratchet I just stop. They know it from there. I look down at my hands, and I'm surprised to notice that I'm holding onto Jazz so tightly that my knuckles are white. I can feel my nails digging into his skin – it has to hurt, but he hasn't complained. I force my fingers to let go before I look up at the others for the first time since I began talking.

Ratchet looks furious. I've seen his peeved look, and his snarky look, and his angry look, but I've never seen that look before. He passes me another bottle of pink liquid silently. His hand is trembling.

Lennox looks upset, too. I bet he's seen a lot of soldiers come back with all manner of horrific injuries, but it's not something you ever get used to.

Optimus looks heartbroken. There's no other word for it. I think I'm in for another Optimus-hug afterwards, and judging by the way he looks he might never let me go.

"Thank you, Isobel," Prowl says softly. "That was hard, I know. I still have a few points I'm unclear on, though. Would it be okay if I asked you some questions?"

I nod. "Yeah, go ahead."

Jazz takes hold of my hand again. "Let me know if it gets too difficult, sweetspark," he murmurs. I just squeeze his hand, it's about all I've got the presence for right now.

"Thank you," Prowl says in the same gentle tones. "I know this is difficult for you, but we need to know which questions you were asked."

"By Swindle or Soundwave?" I reply, confused.

"Both."

I frown as I think back. "Well, Swindle was easier. We made a deal – he'd bring me food every day, and in return I'd tell him something he didn't already know. He started out asking about me – who I was, how I came to be working with Autobots, stuff like that."

"And your reply?" Lennox asked, eyeing me speculatively.

I shrug, wincing instantly at the pain in my ribs and neck. "I told him my name, what I do for a living, and that I'd been hired to work with human soldiers on a base that happened to also have Autobots on it."

"Good job, sweetspark," Jazz croons, quietly enough that I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who can hear it. "That was clever."

"I see." Prowl, predictably, takes notes. "And after that?"

"He got into the trickier questions," I reply, remembering. "Though they weren't the questions I'd have expected. He did ask some questions about you guys – mostly about stuff I didn't know anything about, like what supplies you were short on and such – but he asked more about Earth, actually. War zones, foreign policy, geography, stuff like that." I snort. "He asked how the space program was going. Like I'd know."

Lennox chuckles at that. "Like you would indeed."

"Sounds like Swindle's keepin' his options open," Ironhide says, looking across the tables at Prowl.

"I agree," the SIC replies. "He's looking for weak points to exploit. I don't think we need to worry about him – the most likely scenario is that he's considering Earth as a business venue, or a resource to harvest."

"Slimy little scumbag won't do much harm on his own anyway," Ironhide grumbles. "You know Megatron would dismantle him if there was even a whisper of him selling tech to humans."

"Swindle is not a priority at this time," Optimus agrees. He's gotten his facial expression back under control.

They fall silent again, and I realize they're waiting for me to continue.

"Soundwave," I begin, and then I have to clear my throat before I can continue. Jazz gives me a comforting squeeze. "Soundwave was different."

"Different?" Prowl prompts after a minute, when it's clear I need to be prompted.

"Yeah," I sigh, sitting up slightly and leaning away from Jazz. I need some space to breathe for this. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself. I look at Prowl, and somehow the quiet strength he projects is a support to me, even on the opposite side of the room. "Soundwave asked a lot of questions, but I couldn't answer any of them. And he never asked me the same question twice."

"What kind of questions?" Lennox asks, although it looks like it pains him to do so.

"What kind of alliance the Autobots have with the humans. Where you get your crude energon. How you refine your energon. How you manufacture spare parts, and from what. If you'd had any contact with Cybertron. Who it was had intercepted certain communications within the Decepticons. Who had infiltrated the base on certain dates." Prowl's fingers fly over the pad on the desk in front of him. "Who is the top human commander you have contact with. What plans you had for long-term assimilation. Science stuff – who had constructed what, how to construct specific items, lots of questions about a space bridge. The location of specific Autobots."

"Do you remember the names?" Prime asks, looking at me intently.

"Some," I reply. "I hadn't heard any of the names before." I close my eyes, trying to call the names I do remember up, suddenly grateful again for the warmth of Jazz behind me. "Springer. Deadlock. Ultra Magnus."

I can tell by their reactions that the names mean something to the Autobots. Lennox, on the other hand, is blank.

"He only asked for each Autobot once?" Prowl looks up from his pad.

"Yes," I nod. "He never repeated a question."

"Even if you couldn't answer?" Ironhide, this time.

I smile, though there's no mirth in it. "I could never answer. I only answered the very last question he asked, and that one he had to already know the answer to." I frown, realizing the truth of my own words, and look back at Prowl. "I'm sure he must have known. Why would he ask me something he already knew the answer to?"

"To verify that she was telling the truth?" Arcee suggests.

"Nah," Jazz replies, and I can feel him shaking his head. "Nah, it was the last question. And she didn' answer any o' th' others. If he needed control questions, he shoulda started out with that, not waited until the end."

"The first thing he asked was of the nutrition level of your energon," I say, remembering with a shudder. "'Subject: will describe Autobot energon efficiency."

Ratchet stares at me sharply. "There's no way you would know that."

I just shrug as minutely as I can manage. Of course there's no way I would know that.

Ratchet turns towards Prowl. "Why would he ask her questions he had to know she wouldn't have the answer to?"

"Isobel," Prowl says slowly, and I swear I can see the gears ticking in his head from here, "when you didn't reply, what happened?"

I take another deep, steadying breath and close my eyes, make sure I've got a good grip on Jazz. It feels safer that way. "That's when the shock probe thing came into play."

"He tortured you." Lennox's voice.

"'Subject: will describe Autobot spaceflight capability,'" I murmur. "'No, I can't, I don't know, please, I don't know.' Then the shock probe, across whichever part of me it suited him to hurt at the time. Then a new question that I couldn't answer, the shock probe again. And so it went on until he decided I'd had enough, and Rumble or Frenzy would put me back in the cage, maybe give me some water and an energy bar."

"No wonder you're starved," Ratchet mutters, and I'd not like to be Soundwave the next time Ratchet encounters him.

"Always the same phrasing," Prowl says, and it's not exactly a question. "Always the same pattern."

"Yes, until the last day," I reply. "I could never answer any questions but the last one."

"What was the last one?" Ironhide asks, and even with my eyes closed I can picture the half-curious look on his face.

"'Subject: will describe Blaster's cassettes,'" I reply, keeping my eyes closed – it's easier like that. Jazz's touch keeps me grounded and tethered to the present. "I tried to lie at first, but then he probed me. So I told him – there are four, and what shapes they have. And then he told Rumble to take me away and give me to Swindle."

"That makes no sense," Blaster interjects. "Soundwave knows that already. He knows just as much about my cassettes as I do about his."

"Nothing about this makes sense," Prime says, and he sounds upset. "Why would Soundwave be interrogating her? Why does this deviate from any other interrogation pattern we've seen from the Decepticons so far? Why didn't they call us to brag?"

"Why did they take her in the first place?" Ironhide adds. "She's got no strategic value."

"I have a theory," Prowl says, and the timbre of his voice leads me to open my eyes again to find him. "It's the most likely scenario. But it's not a pleasant one."

"Go ahead, old friend," Prime sighs. "Nothing about this is pleasant."

"Very well." Prowl nods, then looks at me. "There's a 74.2% chance that Isobel was taken simply because she was there, with the Autobots. Most likely by one of the Coneheads. Swindle probably bribed someone into letting him have guard duty, so he could take advantage of her knowledge. He's sharp enough to know that she is no ordinary human."

"It's par for th' course for Swindle," Jazz agrees from behind me. He climbs out of the bed again, walks up to his mate. "He's got nobody's interest at spark but his own. So far Ah agree wi' your assessment, Prowler."

"What about Soundwave, though?" Blaster asks. "I actually thought he would be moderately nice to her, less likely to hurt her, considering he has access to Laserbeak's memories. That cassette is very fond of Isobel."

Prowl hesitates. I have a feeling I'm not going to like what he comes out with next.

"He was moderately nice to her," he says finally.

I was right. I don't like that.

Neither does anyone else, apparently.

"Prowl, you can't be serious," Ratchet says sharply, and I'm glad I'm not at the receiving end of that death glare. "He almost killed her."

"Hear me out," Prowl says over the increasing protests. "Who normally does interrogations for the Decepticons?"

"Vortex," Jazz murmurs, and though the name means nothing to me the distaste on most of the holoforms' faces tells me what I need to know. "Slaggit, Prowler, ya's right."

"Soundwave kept her hidden in the same room all the time, only accessed by himself and the cassettes, so he kept her hidden from the rest of the Decepticons," Prowl continues. "He never asked questions he expected her to answer, never pressured her when she said she didn't know. He was never in her head, always letting her answer in her own way. And then he let her go."

"Soundwave interrogated her so nobody else would," Blaster says, his tone one of quiet shock.

"Yes," Prowl nods. "He had to make it look real, though, so no one else would take an interest in her. So Megatron wouldn't care."

I don't know how to feel about that. The most disturbing experience of my life, a captivity that almost killed me, and it was an act of fucking mercy!?

"Yes," Prowl says, surprising me until I realize I was speaking out loud. "It was, Isobel. I'm sorry."

"No, that can't be," I protest, and even though I can hear the shrill tone of my voice I can't seem to change it. "No, that makes no sense, Prowl, he almost killed me! That was _not_ kindness!"

I only realize I'm edging into full-blown hysterics when Arcee climbs in behind me, embracing me and rocking me gently. Ratchet leans over me, and I can see he's trying to get through to me, but I can't hear him over the pounding in my ears. My breathing speeds up until I can't actually catch my breath, my vision clouds over, and I drop into unconsciousness.

* * *

When I wake up, I'm back in my hospital bed in Catherine's clinic. It takes me a moment to process what happened, and then I'm instantly furious again, sitting up and straining against my wires and lines.

"Easy, Isobel," someone says, surprising me. I had thought I was alone, but clearly not. I don't instantly recognize the voice, though, and this damned pit-slagging _neck brace_ won't let me turn my head.

My visitor gets it, apparently, and moves into my line of sight.

It's Skyfire.

"Calm down, Isobel," he says, smiling gently at me. "It's just me."

My anger fades away, and suddenly I'm just tired. "Hi, Skyfire," I reply dully. "I got removed from the debriefing, didn't I."

"Ratchet's orders," he confirms. "He thought it was detrimental to your health, and Optimus agreed."

"He's such a pushover for Ratchet," I grumble.

"Yes, he is," Skyfire chuckles. "Though the fact that Ratchet had to sedate you to get you to stop twitching and possibly exacerbating the damage to your neck and spine may have been a contributing factor as well."

I groan, scrunching my eyes shut. "That explains why I feel like crap."

"It might, yes."

Skyfire's so calm. Nothing seems to faze him much – he's never angry, he's just kind, and if there ever was a picture of a gentle giant in a dictionary it would be of him. "So you're my designated babysitter, huh?"

"I volunteered," he replies, offering me another of those small Skyfire smiles. "I'm off shift for now, and Ratchet wanted someone to sit with you so you didn't wake up alone." He pauses. "He told me you preferred to have someone with you."

"He's not wrong," I admit. "I panic. A bit. When I'm alone."

"After what you've been through, that's understandable. And I can relate." He clearly notices my questioning look, because he takes mercy on me and elaborates. "It's like me and snow."

My eyebrows climb up. "You and snow?"

"Sure," he smiles easily. "I crashed during a blizzard and spent millions of years under the ice. So now I don't like the stuff. I still won't fly if it's snowing – it's not a matter of will, either, I simply can't. I panic."

Well, that makes sense, I suppose.

And, strangely, it makes me feel better. I guess misery really does love company.

"Can I get you anything, Isobel?" he asks. "They left some food for you."

I look at the tray. More of those crackers, and something that looks suspiciously like chocolate pudding. I doubt it really is – it's probably some form of nutrient-rich grainy mush with a smattering of food-coloring for good measure – but I manage to fool myself. "Pudding? Please? And since you're stuck with me anyway, can you tell me a story?"

He smiles at that. "Of course I can."

Skyfire really is pleasant company. He doesn't presume, doesn't ask for anything, just sits there in his chair next to my bed, talking calmly about his life on pre-war Cybertron. I down my pudding, which turn out to be chock-full of yummy artificial chocolatey goodness, and move on to the crackers while he's talking. The light outside the window fades away.

When Catherine comes back in, it's dark outside and I'm half asleep. Skyfire's still talking, and his voice is a comfort.

"Hello, Isobel," Catherine says, eyeing my empty tray with a small smile. "Good, you're eating. Fancy some proper food?"

Huh. That… actually sounds good. "Sure. I could go for that." I gesture towards the tall holoform sitting next to the bed. "Don't know if you two have met properly. Catherine, this is Skyfire, he's a space shuttle slash scientist explorer slash storyteller. Skyfire, this is doctor Catherine Hancock, medic extraordinaire and a good friend."

"Pleasure," Catherine says, shaking his hand. She raises an eyebrow at me. "Extraordinaire?"

"Yep," I grin, channeling my inner Sideswipe. "You know Ratchet wouldn't let you work on me if you weren't."

"Oh, Ratchet-approved," Skyfire says, smiling. "That is impressive. Though I hope your bedside manner is better than his."

I look at Catherine, considering. She's still arching that eyebrow at me. "Definitely. I haven't been wrenched yet."

Catherine snorts at that, before doing the customary round to check my machines.

"So what's the verdict?" I ask, when she's been intolerably quiet for longer than I like.

"You seem to have stabilized after your panic attack earlier," she muses, adjusting something on one monitor. "Ratchet told me someone will be by tomorrow to give you the rundown of what happened after he had to get you out of there."

I suppose I should be happy that they want to make sure I'm informed. But right now, the last thing I want to think about is what I learned today. I am not going there.

"Good," I reply, "but that's not exactly what I meant. How long am I going to be stuck to this bed?"

She sighs, pulls one of the other chairs closer to the bed. I have five extra chairs in my room – I can't help but wonder if someone planned for the Protectobots when they moved them in here. "I don't have an exact answer to that," Catherine says. "The absolutely critical issues are that your kidneys need to begin to work normally again, and that your neck needs to heal. I'm not letting you out of here until I'm certain that your body can process food normally. And even when I release you after that, you're looking at weeks of bed rest. It will be a minimum of three weeks – maybe closer to six - before the fissure fractures in your neck heal."

"Six weeks in bed?" I groan. "Man, I hope someone dismantles Soundwave."

"I don't think you would lack for volunteers," Skyfire says, and this is the first time I've heard him close to angry.

"None of that," Catherine cautions. "If you get yourself upset to the point of hysterics I'll have to sedate you again, and you won't like that. Do you want the good news now?"

"I could do with some good news," I reply darkly.

"Your lover is a medic."

Well, yeah. I know that. And I really really wish Ratchet would be done with that damn debriefing soon so I could have him back.

"That means I can release you into his care," she continues.

I look at her for a moment longer, then I grin. "You'd let me stay with the Protectobots."

"As long as you stay in the hospital bed and they're prepared to take responsibility for your care, yes," she replies. "I will need to discuss this with them first, and with their commanders. Make no mistake, Isobel, you will be a burden to them. They will have to be charged with the total of your care, and you will be considered an invalid for the next three weeks."

"The total of my care?" I echo. There's something unpleasant there, and though I doubt I'll be considered a burden by the Protectobots, I don't want to walk into something (or be rolled into something, more likely) that will be uncomfortable for all of us.

"Yes," she confirms. "Including but not limited to frequent meals, wound care, toilet visits and cleaning."

Ah. There's the unpleasantness.

I'm totally not ready for having Hot Spot escorting me to the bathroom or Blades washing every part of me that needs it. That's way, way too intimate. It would definitely get weird.

Still, if that's the only way I won't be stuck in this room for three to six weeks, maybe I'll have to consider it.

"Think about it," she cautions. "I will talk it over with – Hot Spot, is it? And with Ratchet. After I get you something to eat." She looks at Skyfire. "Will you stay for a little while longer?"

"Yes," he says, with another of those easy smiles. Skyfire is the master of the relaxed smile. "I'm staying for another hour or so, until the night shift gets here."

Catherine nods and walks out, but I frown at the implications of that. "I've been divided into shifts?"

He nods wryly. "It was mainly a joke, and I could have phrased it better, but in essence, yes. You've been missed, and you're hurting. Consider it less of a shift arrangement and more of a chance for your friends to spend time with you and make sure that you're all right."

"Well, when you put it that way." I smile back – this reeks of Ratchet, or Sideswipe, or Bumblebee, but mainly of First Aid. And I'm not going to argue. It's not like I'm going to be able to sleep if they leave me all alone overnight. "So who am I getting tonight?"

"Groove, I think, and then Bluestreak tomorrow morning."

"Not First Aid?" I can't deny that I'm more than a little disappointed.

Skyfire sighs apologetically. "Ratchet's still at the debriefing, and it may last into the night. First Aid will try to come by when Ratchet comes back, but Optimus might also order Ratchet to get some recharge. He doesn't get enough of it. In which case, First Aid's on watch in medbay until tomorrow."

I nod. That makes sense, annoying though it is. "It's okay. I like Groove and Blue."

I do. I've missed them both, when I dared think about the Autobots at all. And since neither of them were at the debriefing today, it's obvious that the higher-ups don't want me interacting with any of those who know anything yet. Ratchet probably wants to be here when they tell me the rest, considering my reaction earlier.

And then something else he said hits me. "Hey, Skyfire, you consider yourself my friend?"

He looks at me curiously. "Of course. I notice that mentally I seem to have grouped you with Bluestreak and Bumblebee – someone who I enjoy spending time with, don't see that often, and feel slightly protective of."

That has me giggling, and after a moment he grins as well. "Well, thanks," I grin when I get myself back under control. "I appreciate that."

Catherine enters, then, carrying a tray. Behind her is one of my new brothers.

"I'll take my leave, then," Skyfire says smoothly, standing. "It was nice to spend time with you, Isobel. I hope to see you on your feet soon."

"See you, Skyfire," I reply, waving as he leaves.

Groove darts past Catherine as soon as they're clear of the doorway, and I find myself with a lap full of Protectobot. He's just as careful as First Aid, though, so I hug him back gratefully.

"It is so, so good to have you back," he says, words muffled by the fact that he's speaking into my neck. "You have no idea."

"I can guess," I reply, silently thinking that if one more person say they're glad to have me back I might have to come up with a snappy retort. Nothing rude, just something to indicate that yes, I know, and yes, I'm glad to be back, but I've heard it fifty times now so let's move past it already. "I've missed you, too."

"Here," Catherine says, pushing Groove aside slightly so she can put my tray down. "You shouldn't have any problems with this, but don't worry if you can't eat all of it."

She's brought me pasta. My tummy actually rumbles, which has Catherine nodding in satisfaction. "I'm going to come back in later, get you ready for the night. Call me if you need me."

Groove settles in the foot end of the bed, making sure to avoid my legs. I can feel him watching as I eat.

"I know," I say between mouthfuls. "I look like a scarecrow."

"You'll fill out soon, if you keep eating," he replies, putting a gentle hand on my uninjured leg. "That's what Ratchet says, anyway."

I eat until I can't force down another bite. I haven't felt this full in over a month.

I've only gotten down about a third of the food. The plate still looks more full than empty.

Groove notices my look. "Don't worry about it, Isobel. You've lived on nothing but mouthfuls for weeks. Your stomach and digestive system needs time."

I nod at that, suddenly sleepy. "I guess. Hey, call Catherine for me, will you? I want to get ready for bed."

"What do you need me to do?" he asks, standing up.

I look at him dumbly. Didn't I just tell him that? "Call Catherine?"

"No, silly," he laughs. "Let me help. You want to go to the bathroom, clean up?"

I freak. No way he's seeing me naked too, one set of Protectobot optics today on the disaster zone that my body has become was enough.

Groove gets it, it seems, because his hands are suddenly on my shoulders. "Easy," he says softly. "Here's what we're going to do. First Aid's told me which lines need to stay connected. I disconnect the rest, carry you to the bathroom, wait outside until you've done what you need, give you a hand with towels or buttons or whatever else is difficult, and carry you back to bed. Okay?"

That… doesn't sound too bad. So I nod.

Groove is very professional about the whole thing, never looking at the parts of me I'd rather he didn't see, even when he has to help me with my shirt. Even with his help, though, I'm week as a day-old kitten and trembling at the end of it. It's a relief to be put back in bed just as Catherine comes in.

She looks me over. "Well done," she praises, and I'm sure it's both for me and the Protectobot scout. "I see you're trainable, at least."

I look around then, as realization hits me. "Groove, are you going to spend all night in the chair?"

"I'll bring in a second bed," Catherine says. "Ratchet told me some of you can recharge in holoform."

"Share mine," I plead, looking at both of them. "Not another bed. I won't know you're here."

"You're connected to too many wires, Isobel," he says regretfully, "and there's not enough room."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Catherine sighs. "Give me a moment."

She walks out, and after a moment she comes back in with another hospital bed. She wheels it up next to mine, pushing the chairs out of the way, then she drops the rails on the connecting sides of the beds.

"There," she says finally. "It's not a double bed, but at least he'll be next to you, Isobel."

I nod and yawn, leaning back into the pillows. Groove smiles slightly as he climbs up on the other bed.

"I'm on call tonight," Catherine says, "so I'll hear you if you pull the cord. Good night, you two."

I barely hear her, my eyes are already drifting shut. Groove pulls the covers over me, and takes my hand. "Sleep tight, Isobel."

That sounds nice. And with the comfort of Groove's hand in mine, I think I'll be able to do just that.


	29. Acting out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some additional warnings for this chapter. There will be discussions of severe PTSD reactions, and of living with abuse. Suicidal thoughts will be mentioned.

_Dear diary,_

_Groove brought my journal to me last night. I'd left it in my room before we went to San Francisco. I feel a bit more normal, now that I have it with me._

_He's such a darling. He held my hand all night, which was a relief, because I woke up in a panic more times than I care to count._

_This is going to be a bumpy ride. At least it doesn't look like I'm going to have to ride it alone._

_Catherine is pleased with me, at least. I managed to eat everything she brought me for breakfast. She says if I keep this up she's giving my kidneys the clean bill, which is good, since it's one step closer to getting me out of here._

_Of course, Groove was there supporting every word she said, and interjecting First Aid's opinion every time she drew a breath._

_I miss First Aid. I want him here so bad it hurts. Groove said he might be able to come by later, he just needs Ratchet to come back on duty first. And since Catherine says that Ratchet is coming by later, I get the chance to tell him to get his aft back to work so I can get my Protectobot back._

_I guess the fact that he's coming by means I'm going to be told the rest of what I don't know. I'm dreading that a bit, actually. I hope Bluestreak's left by then – I adore the kid, and I can't wait to see him again, but he's not exactly a calming influence. Not like Skyfire, or Groove, or First Aid, or even Bumblebee._

_Bee would be fun, too. I hope he's coming to visit at some point. And I wonder if I get any say in this shift arrangement they've worked out, or if I just have to accept whoever comes in the door._

_I guess I'll find out._

* * *

"- and then Wheeljack said that the explosion would have been bigger if he hadn't kept the potassium picrate secluded from the rest, and Ratchet still cursed him out something fierce for storing the other chemicals together, but it worked out anyway because they found his arm in the wreckage so Ratchet could reattach it. He didn't do that straight away though because he said it would teach 'Jack a lesson, not that those lessons have sunk in before. Anyway, 'Jack said that Ratchet needed the practice, so perhaps he should blow himself up more often instead of less, and I guess you can imagine what he replied."

I snort. "Way, way too vividly."

It's easy, with Bluestreak here. I can lean back into my pillows and let the wall of sound surround me, keeping me safe from the bad memories. He doesn't require me to say anything, he's happy, and I'm just absorbing his energy like it's sunshine and I'm short on vitamin D. It's nice.

Catherine's just been by with my lunch when Ratchet comes in, Prowl and Jazz on his heels. Bluestreak shuts up mid-word, looks between them anxiously. "Um, I can leave if you want?"

"Nah, stay," Ratchet says, smiling slightly. "If Isobel thinks it's okay."

I nod and wink at the chatterbox sniper. "Stay, Blue. You're still on minding-Isobel duty, after all."

Jazz chuckles. "That a thing?"

"According to Skyfire," I reply with a smile. "I've been parceled out."

"It's not like that, Isobel," Bluestreak protests. "But we were told that you needed company, and we all wanted to help because we've missed you and have been scared for you, and I know I'm not the only one who'll be fighting the 'Cons extra hard next time they show up, so we agreed we would take turns sitting with you, and – oh." He blushes slightly, which makes his gorgeous holoform look even more attractive, and ducks his head as the others grin at him. "Okay. I guess it is like that."

"I don't mind," I giggle. "I do like the company. Don't fret, Blue."

"Catherine says she's pleased with your progress," Ratchet says, apparently choosing to ignore Bluestreak's stutters. "Another few days, and you'll probably be out of here. If the Protectobots can take you."

"I'm a bit nervous about that," I admit. "I don't want them to feel like they have to take me in." I know I don't want them to take on more than they can handle, which I might very well be considering the fact that I'm pretty much an invalid right now. And I don't want to be First Aid's patient more than I am his girlfriend – I've seen too many relationships break up that way, with burdens being placed on partners that they simply weren't equipped to handle.

"I've talked to Hot Spot," Ratchet says, like he can read my mind. "I made sure he understands what this means. His response was pretty much to just snort at me and say that they can handle anything you throw at them."

"They don't know what it means," I insist, because they don't. They've never handled a human injured to this degree before. It's very different from a damaged Cybertronian.

"No, they don't," Ratchet agrees. "Which is why we're not releasing you into their care until they've all had a shift in this room. I heard Groove was here tonight; according to Hot Spot, he's been asking for extra time to spend with you. So he won't be a problem, at least."

"Ya know, sweetspark, if it don't work out with th' Protectobots ya can stay with us," Jazz says, leaning over and taking my hand.

"I don't want to wig you out either," I protest. "That's the whole point. But I'm grateful for the offer."

"No one's getting - wigged out? What kind of phrase is that anyway?" Ratchet says in what sounds like disbelief. "No one's freaking out because of this. I have a feeling Hot Spot's team will work out fine, they just need to enter this with open eyes. Oh, you should eat that, by the way."

I look down at my tray. Some form of soup this time, and now that I'm looking at it I can't look away. Ratchet is just as pleased as Catherine was when my stomach rumbles.

"You're healing up," he comments as he puts down the last of my charts. "Physically, at least."

I just nod, focus on my soup. Physically, yeah, I'm getting better. Mentally is going to take a heck of a long time.

Prowl pulls up a chair then, sits down on the other side of me from Bluestreak. It's a bit disorienting, for a moment, as they both give me the same caring look. They're so similar it's eerie. And then Bluestreak breaks into a smile and the moment passes. "You going to stay with the Protectobots, Isobel?"

"Hopefully," I reply. "I'm on bedrest for three to six weeks, but if I go stay with them I don't have to spend all that time in this room."

"First Aid will like that," Bluestreak nods. "I was talking to Streetwise yesterday and he said First Aid's been really stressed lately, he really missed you. I mean, we all did, but he obviously missed you most, because you're together, and it will be good for him to have you where he can see you."

Huh. It didn't actually occur to me that First Aid would be just as addicted to having me close as I suddenly am to having him close. That should make things easier.

"Isobel," Prowl says. He sounds hesitant, quiet, which I don't like – it sounds like chit-chat time is over, and we're down to serious business. "I'm so sorry."

I stare at him. "Why are _you_ sorry?"

"I never meant to upset you like that," he explains, looking down. Jazz's hands land on his shoulders. "I didn't think about the effect my conclusions would have on you."

I shake my head at that. "That was not your fault. You told us what you thought, not your fault I freaked out." I sigh then – it's time to tackle this head-on. "I was thinking, last night, about what you said." The safety of Groove's steady breathing and his hand in mine had given me the stability to think through some really disturbing things. "I think you're right, as much as I hate the idea. He was trying to protect me. Aside from the electrocution, he never actually hurt me. The cassettes didn't, either. The only one who actually attacked me or anything while I was a captive was Thrust."

"Ya never woulda gotten outta there if Sounders wasn' helpin' ya, sweetspark," Jazz says softly. "It was Swindle who contacted Blaster, an' based on what you said it was Swindle who planned how t' get ya out, but unless Soundwave had run interference for ya Swindle wouldn' have been able t' carry ya outta there."

"That's what I realized too," I frown, "and I really hate that that's how it is."

"Thrust was the one who caused the rib fractures?" Ratchet is frowning now, looking at my x-rays from when I got in.

"I guess," I nod, "when he kicked me. And one of the head injuries. And the knee, too."

"And then the electrical burns and micro-fractures were Soundwave," Ratchet muses. "As well as the malnourishment. What about your back?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I didn't even know my back was hurt, actually. It hurt so much everywhere."

"Your spine is bruised," Ratchet replies, pointing at the x-rays to show me. Not that I know what I'm looking for. "Like you fell hard on it or something."

"Oh," I realize. "It must be from when he was trying to beat some air back into me. When I couldn't breathe."

"He wouldn't have revived you if he was simply trying to get information out of you," Prowl says quietly.

"Isobel, ya's gaining friends even 'mong the 'Cons," Jazz grins, but I shake my head.

"Soundwave is not a friend. He may have been trying to protect me, but a friend wouldn't have tortured me even so."

Ratchet agrees, I can tell. He looks angry again. "You know, Isobel, I'm getting tired of all this slag happening to you. You've had so many bad experiences since you came to us it's not even funny. I'm tempted to have an escort permanently assigned to you at this point."

"I have an escort," I grin, nodding towards Bluestreak. The young Autobot is holding my hand, smiling, and actually not talking. It kills me to have to be serious again, but this needs to be said. "It wouldn't help, Ratchet. I had five strong Autobots with me, and the 'Cons still took me."

Even Jazz looks defeated. And I can't take that. "Hey," I say, prodding him. "Jazz. Hey. You got me back. I'm back."

"We didn' find ya, sweetspark," he murmurs. "We were right there, an' we didn' find ya."

"If you didn't, no one could have," I say firmly. "This was just a general case of suckage and bad luck all the way around." I lift my fingers, ticking off points. "If the twins, Arcee, Cliffjumper and you couldn't protect me, I doubt anyone could have. Since none of you found me after the battle, I simply wasn't there to be found. If you didn't find me in the 'Con base, it was because I was hidden too well. But you got me back. You made the deal, and you got me back. I owe you guys my life."

"We nearly got you killed," Prowl breathes, and I realize that he's actually taking the blame for this just as much as Sunstreaker is. Prowl is In Charge, he's supposed to see every outcome and plan for them, and he didn't see it.

"I thought we agreed that Soundwave was trying to be nice," I counter, raising an eyebrow at him. "He never meant for me to die."

"Not nice," Ratchet disagrees softly. "He was merely doing the least he could get away with before he managed to squirrel you out. And you would have died, Isobel, if he had kept you any longer."

"Whatever," I insist, because I've had quite enough of talking about Soundwave for a good long while. "My point is, this isn't your fault. None of you. This was just a really upsetting thing that happened."

"Isobel –"

"No," I interrupt, and suddenly I'm furious. "It is not your damn fault, Prowl! Don't you fucking dare think it is, because there's only one place that blame is going, and that's to the bloody Decepticons! Not me, not you, not Sunstreaker or Jazz or Sideswipe or Mirage or anyone else who couldn't prevent it, stop it or change it! This fucking," and here I pause, try to find the right word, "this fucking _disaster_ happened, and feeling guilty won't change a damn thing, and if you don't stop sulking I'll sic Lennox on you. He knows what happens in war, since it seems you've forgotten."

Four pairs of wide optics stare at me.

"Ya's not a soldier, sweetspark," Jazz says quietly – and bravely, I guess, because I'm quite prepared to bite the head off whoever argues with me next.

"Oh, so only soldiers can be hurt in war, is that it?" I snarl at him. "You dare to sit there, with Bluestreak sitting opposite you, and tell me that only soldiers get hurt in war? We all know that isn't true."

I could have kicked myself. Seriously. Because Bluestreak's crestfallen, tearful wide eyes staring at me.

"Oh Christ, Bluestreak, I'm so sorry," I whisper, and I know I'm just as wide-eyed as he is. "That was completely uncalled for and I should never have said that."

"It's true, though," he said, and his voice trembles, and the grin he tries to force is slipping.

"It was a horrible thing to say." I shake my head and reach for him, and for one long moment I'm afraid he won't take my hand.

But then he does. He takes it, squeezes it, and I'm surprised at the sheer strength of my relief.

I need to do some serious self-analyzing after this.

"It's okay, Isobel, really," Bluestreak says, and his smile is more stable now. "I know you didn't mean it like that."

"I really didn't," I say, and now tears are stinging my eyes as well. Seriously, what the fuck?

Ratchet is eyeing me critically, too.

"Okay, out," he says suddenly, making shooing motions at the other three. "I need some time with my patient for a confidential discussion."

Bluestreak squeezes my hand again, then fades away. I make a mental note to talk more with him later, I have to fix this.

Jazz kisses my forehead gently, then tugs a still frowning Prowl – another one I have to talk to, make it up to – up into his arms. They fade away together, and they're so completely gorgeous and adorable that I kind of forget Ratchet's still there.

Not that he lets me forget for long.

"Isobel," he says, and his stern face is strangely at odds with the soft voice. "How do you want to handle this?"

"What?" I reply dumbly.

"This," he says, lifting his hand to indicate me. "You. Treatment for the PTSD. You know you're exhibiting the signs."

I sigh. "Yeah, I know. I've noticed." I wince again as Blue's stricken face makes an unbidden reappearance in my mind.

"Well, as a specialist, what would you suggest?" Ratchet asks, sitting down on Bluestreak's vacated chair. "Talking to someone?"

"That's normally the first resort, yeah," I reply, looking away.

"Then why don't you?" He frowns when I whip my head back and glare at him. "Don't give me that look, sparklet. You've told us the info, but you're keeping your own emotions about it locked up. That's partly why you freaked out so badly yesterday."

"Oh, so now you're the expert," I snark. I don't want him to talk about this anymore.

"I've treated war injuries for millions of years," he snarks back. "I'd like to think that that gives me the right to an opinion, yeah. So why aren't you talking?"

I explode. "Oh, who the fuck would I talk to, Ratchet? When everybody here is already wallowing in guilt and grief over the whole thing! There's no room for _my_ emotions in this, I have to take care of yours!"

He leans back, probably surprised at my outburst. I don't care. "Any of us would –"

"Bullshit!" I scream back. "Optimus, Prowl, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, pit, even Arcee are already feeling guilty as hell over the whole thing, I can't tell them how I'm actually doing! They'll cave! And you and Jazz and Ironhide and the Protectobots and so many others are so furious about this, I can't add to that! You tell me who I can fucking talk to without overburdening them!" My energy suddenly spent, I lean back against my pillow, fighting the angry tears. "There's a reason why most soldiers with PTSD prefers a neutral third party as a counselor. Family's just too damn close."

I can't look at him, and for a few moments there's silence. Then, damn him, he goes and breaks it again.

"You're not our shrink in this, Isobel. Your sanity is more important." He sighs then, probably knows I'm not giving in about this. "Very well. If I find someone you can talk to, will you trust my judgment on that? Will you talk to them?"

I nod, still not looking at him. "If it's someone I trust, yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to them. I do know the importance of talking about it, Ratchet."

"Good." My hand is taken and squeezed briefly, then the tray on my lap is removed. "I'll get rid of this and find someone to sit with you for a while, okay?"

I just nod again and close my eyes. I'm done talking for now, I just want to sleep.

I can hear the door closing behind him.

* * *

_It's cold, and I'm naked, shivering against the bars in the dark. My knee hurts, and my throat hurts, and when the light's suddenly turned on I whimper, crawl backwards against the wall as fast as I can, shaking my head even through the pain in my neck._

_"_ _No no no no no no no –"_

_"_ _Frenzy," he intones. "Prepare subject,"_

_I scream, pulling away from the reaching metal hands, kick out, freak out. The cassette is coming into the cage after me, cold hands touch my leg, and I scream._

_"_ _Isobel."_

_"_ _No," I gasp, "No, no more, please, I'll do anything, no more, I can't –"_

_"_ _Isobel. Wake up, love._ Love, you need to wake up, you're hurting yourself."

My eyes startle open.

It's still dark, but I'm not in a cell. I'm in a bed, legs tangled in sweaty sheets, breathing and heartbeat going a million miles a minute, panic in every fiber of my body.

First Aid's there. He's in the bed next to mine, reconnected to mine for the night, and he's curving up against me, stroking my face. I can't see much of his face, but what I can see looks worried.

"Shh, love," he croons. "You need to lay still. Calm down, you're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

I lean into his caresses gratefully. They ground me, anchor me in the present, and my heartbeat finally begins to slow down.

"Bad dream?" First Aid asks softly.

I swallow. "Yeah. I was… I was back in the cage. Frenzy was coming to drag me out."

"You're never going back there, Isobel," he murmurs, kissing my forehead. "Sleep, love. I'll be right here."

"Can't sleep now," I reply, trying to inch closer to him. Damned wires won't let me.

First Aid, being the all-knowing Protectobot, inches closer to me instead. He's on his side, right hand on my face, right leg over my right leg – steering well clear of my injured left knee.

"Tell me a story," I murmur. "Tell me about doing fun stuff with your brothers."

It's so soothing, listening to him talk about the rest of the Protectobots. Even if it is just about Groove and his fascination with the ocean, or how Streetwise prefers to turn left when he's parking instead of right. It's not so much what he says – to be honest, he could probably be reading the telephone directory and it would have the same effect. It's his voice. I could be perfectly happy never hearing anything but that voice.

In return, I tell him about my childhood. The few memories I have of my mother – her singing, the soft touch against my cheek as she told me goodnight, the way she always smelled clean, soapy. Her funeral. My father raising both of us, the fun, normal stuff we used to do.

"I wish I could have seen you," First Aid whispers, fingers stroking gently along my cheek. "I wish I could have seen you growing up."

"You have those pictures and videos I gave you for Christmas," I whisper back. "That's something, isn't it?"

"You have no idea how often I watch those," he chuckles silently. "I've driven my brothers insane with them." He nuzzles against my hair, inhales deeply. "I still wish I could have seen."

"I'd rather have you now than then," I reply, half-closing my eyes and leaning into the contact. "Need you now, Aid."

"I'm right here." He kisses me gently, softly. "I'm not going anywhere. Sleep, love."

This time I obey.

* * *

_I'm so frickin' tired of these walls. I haven't been out of this room since the debriefing – that's five days locked in here. The damn bathroom doesn't count._

_I feel trapped._

_I'm sick of this bed, the dumb chairs, the way I can't see anything but annoying white walls, the way everyone's on eggshells around me, or bloody crying._

_I'm even sick of myself. Not that it makes a difference._

_I always have company. It's a good thing, but even that's running me up the wall. It's getting to the point where I just hate everything – I hate that they're here, but I hate being alone even more._

_Scratch that. I'm terrified of being alone._

_And I know I'm being awful to them, too. To the point where the more volatile 'Bots won't come see me at all. It's just Ratchet, Groove, Hot Spot, Blaster and Smokescreen now, trading off every few hours, with First Aid staying every night. I still haven't trusted myself to talk to Bluestreak or Prowl, I pretty much bit Catherine's face off last time she came in here, I've shouted at Ratchet more times than I can count, and First Aid's become my own personal Wailing Wall._

_And that scares the bejeezus out of me. Because if I drive him away, I have nothing left._

_I don't know what to do._

_I guess I'm finally beginning to understand how Jeremy was feeling._

* * *

Smokescreen is looking at me. He's calm, relaxed, just like every day, and I kind of want to push him through the window. "Do you need anything, Isobel?"

I bite my retort back. Snarking at Smokescreen won't get me anywhere. So instead, I just glare at him.

He sighs, one of the first true signs of emotion I've seen from him. Usually, he just nods or something. "Ratchet's on his way."

Oh good. Must be time to play poke-the-patient.

I push my half-eaten lunch away. My appetite's gone again, and I know Catherine isn't pleased with me. I can't find it in myself to care. I can't seem to move beyond angry these days.

Smokescreen stays until Ratchet walks in, and then he leaves with his customary nod. I don't return it.

"Isobel," Ratchet says. He's taken up an Ironhide-y pose at the base of my bed, and is frowning at me.

I frown back.

"You're spiraling. I can see what you're doing, and you're just hurting yourself. You need to snap out of it."

"Great bedside manner, doc," I snark. "Maybe that should have been my thesis title. 'Shit happened. Snap out of it.'"

His frown deepens, but he ignores my little outburst. "I found someone for you to talk to. You remember your promise?"

I roll my eyes. "God, you meddle. Yes, I remember. Happy?"

"Not by a long shot," he shoots back, "but you're hurting, and right now that's my number one priority. Maybe when you start actually dealing with this we can all move on."

I blink against the sudden tears. That hurts. I knew I was a burden to them, but that was a harsh way to put it.

I can't meet his eyes right now.

"I won't listen in, but I will be monitoring this, and if you manage to drive this one off too we might have to look at stronger solutions. We might have to medicate you."

"That's too soon," I whisper, and it's my professional side showing through – my personal opinion's still ranting and raging and screaming, banging on the walls, scratching and tearing at her own skin and hair. "Medication should be a last resort."

"I don't know if you've looked at yourself lately, but last resort is getting pretty close to where we're at," he replies, and the anger's gone from his voice. "You're not getting better. Pit, Isobel, you're not even coping. You're losing weight again, and you don't have any to lose."

I don't have an answer to that.

"Now, I'm not going to make you promise to change, because we both know – at least I know, and I bet some part of you does – that you're not quite in control of yourself right now. Your mind is running in some sort of panic-mode, and that's why you're lashing out. But I am asking you to try. Just –" he sighs then, an almost heart-broken sound "- just try, sparklet. Please."

I'm still not looking up, but I can hear him leaving. And someone else coming in. Two someones, light footsteps, both sitting down on the same side of my bed.

For a minute or so, no one says anything. And then someone clears their throat.

"The first time he raped me," Parker Jamieson begins, and I look up startled. She's sitting next to my bed, looking at her hands, Bumblebee next to her. He's not focusing on me either. "I didn't know what to think," Parker continues. "I thought he cared about me, you know? I thought I mattered. I went in circles for a week, trying to figure out if I got it wrong somehow, if I'd actually invited him to do that, maybe I'd misread the signs. I almost managed to convince myself that I'd misunderstood the whole thing. Until he did it again."

I just stare at her. I don't know what to do, what to say. Wasn't I the one who was supposed to talk?

"I didn't know what to do," she says quietly, gaze still locked to her hands. "I mean, he was charismatic, well-liked, influential. I was just – me. And he kept telling me how lucky I was to have him, how no one else could give me what he could, how I should just be grateful. It got to the point where I actually believed him, tied my self-worth to whether or not he was happy with me at any given time."

She snorts then, but it's a mirthless sound. "My friends tried to warn me. They could see what he was doing to me. But I didn't want to listen. I kept denying it and denying it until they stopped trying. And I got even more caught up in his webs, because now I had no one else to turn to."

A deep, stuttering sigh. I can't look away from her. "The third time he tried, I fought him. I scratched and bit, tried with every bit of strength I had, but he was bigger and stronger than me. When I got in my best hit, drawing blood, he punched me. One hit had me unconscious."

Her voice quietens. "I woke up sore. He'd… He'd used me while I was knocked out. I was bleeding and chafed raw inside. I hid in my room then, saying I was sick, and cried for a solid week."

I blink the tears away. For the first time in nearly a week I feel like touching another person, and not just to keep my own terrors at bay.

"I was convinced, then, that I was worthless. I had no intrinsic value. My boss came to see me, but I convinced him it was nothing. At least, I think I convinced him. He's testifying against Vale too, so I guess I wasn't as convincing as I thought I'd been.

"I took to pushing everyone away. I've never been the most social person, but I was at least approachable, I had colleagues and such to hang out with over lunch and stuff. But that stopped, too. It got gradually worse and worse, to the point where I could go an entire day without talking to anyone. I was always alone. So naturally, when Vale approached me again, I was easy prey."

She looks up then, but it's not at me. She looks at Bumblebee, and he puts an arm on her back in unspoken support.

"By the time you guys showed up, I'd gotten a reputation as a cold-hearted, stuck-up, mean bitch who was impossible to work with. It wasn't undeserved. I was taking my own hurts out on everyone else. I was fighting with myself every day to just go on. Vale hadn't touched me or even looked at me for months, and somehow that made everything worse - I'd ruined my own life for the guy, and then he just dropped me when I wasn't interesting anymore. I was floundering, and if it hadn't been for Fergus I would have sunk ages ago."

She reaches out, takes Bumblebee's hand, takes another deep breath. "And then shit hit the fan. He tried the same stuff, this time on a woman with a strong network and loyal friends. And he went down for it. For the first time in five years, I told someone what he'd done to me."

There's a small smile on her lips now. I don't think she's amused, though. "Afterwards, I felt empty. I didn't trust myself, and I certainly didn't trust anyone else. I was still floundering, and the water hadn't exactly gotten shallower. It took me… weeks… to trust anyone again." The hand holding Bumblebee's gives it a squeeze. "I'm not sure I've found my way out of the darkness yet. Most days are still a struggle to get through. But I'm working on it. At least now I know that I can get through it. And when I think at what he did to me I can be furious with him, not myself. And I am furious." Her voice turns steely. "I've smashed up more stuff in the last few months than in all the rest of my life put together. I throw things, scream, rant. Cry. I train, hard, more than is healthy. And sometimes, when I'm calm enough, I go outside and meet other people.

"I have trouble with people, though. I don't really want them to register that I'm there. I don't want them to pity me, treat me differently. I'd rather they didn't talk to me at all. And after going a few rounds on it with myself, and the few new friends I've made, and with Catherine, I know that I'm really suffering from the backlash of the whole thing. Putting a name to it doesn't help much, but it at least makes it easier to know that I'm not acting up because I'm a freak."

For the first time, she looks up at me. There's no pity there, no gratitude, nothing but determination. "Some days, I'm sure I'll be fine. Others, I contemplate ending it. The latter are getting fewer and farther between. And I can grit my teeth and push through them. I've made goals - for my birthday in a few months, I'm going to be well enough to actually celebrate. Go to a restaurant with my friends. Talk, laugh, drink wine. Maybe cry a bit more. Have a generally good time. By Christmas next year, I will have reconnected with a few of my old friends. Within the next five years, I will have tried going on a date. That last one's ambitious, but I have to have something to work towards. And by the time I'm forty, thirteen years from now, I will be mostly happy again. There's no other option, because I won't let there be one."

She leans forward, stares at me intently. "If I can get past this, Isobel, then so can you."

I flinch at that, but there's not getting away from that stare.

"I don't know what to do," I whisper. "I don't know anything."

Parker just looks at me. And there's still no way I can look away. "You're angry. You're angry, and upset, and spend half the time wishing that everyone would leave you alone and the other half wishing you could just curl up in someone's arms and sleep for weeks. A tiny, tiny part of you wishes you'd never wake up. Maybe even that he'd just killed you."

I just gape at her.

"You can't take them looking at you, waiting for you to break. They way they're aching, hurting on your behalf, because what right do they have? They didn't go through this, you did. And the hurt's grown, until it's big enough to never leave you alone, and you're actually not sure that you're you anymore because the pain's just taken over to such a degree that you don't know if you can find your way out. And everyone expects you to be glad to have come through it, to be safe again, when they don't realize that you didn't, and you aren't. You're still stuck in that hellhole every time you close your eyes, and you're afraid you'll never leave. You're scared that you're broken, that you've been left worthless because of it, and that in the end even the ones you love will give up on you. And you'll be left all alone with no one to turn to."

"How do you know," I whisper, too shocked to put any volume to my voice.

"I know because I've lived it, Isobel," she says, and there's a sad tinge to her voice. "I'm intimately familiar with every one of those reactions, and I know how hard it is to combat them. But you have to try, Isobel. If for nothing else, then because if you don't, they've won. Those bastards that took you will have won. And we won't let them have that gratification."

"What do I do?" I'm still whispering – I don't know if my voice will work at all for the rest of the day.

"You use your words," Parker says softly. "In a while, using fists and feet and nails and teeth will help too, but you're not physically strong enough for that. Use your words. Even if all you do is cursing the bastard's names from here to hell and back, even if the sentences come out of order, even if they won't make sense to anyone but you. Just let it out. It festers."

I look at her determined face – how could I ever have thought this woman was anything but steely strength? – before I lean back against my pillows and close my eyes.

"Here's what sucks," I whisper finally. "I have to be strong for everyone else. How can I be that when I still have nightmares? I can't even eat, the food just swells in my throat until I can't breathe, and whenever I feel I can't breathe I can feel his finger on my back again, pounding air into me. And this room feels like the cell – whenever the light's off, I'm waiting for that voice to say 'Rumble: prepare subject' and I wake up screaming. I even hear him when I'm awake." Now it's my turn to take a steadying breath. "And the way they look at me. You're dead right about that. I'm actually glad Sunstreaker's in the brig, cruel as it is to think that, because I can't take him looking at me with that lost look again. I just can't. And I know that I'm acting up, I know I'm rubbing them raw even, but I can't help it. It just – it just hurts so much."

I can feel the tears pressing their way past my eyelashes, but I don't care.

"I want to hurt him in return," I whisper. "I want to hurt him so bad, but he's not here, so I hurt everyone else by proxy. And at some point they're going to take offense at that, and I'll lose them. I'm just human, after all. My life will be over before any of them has aged another of their years." A sob, now, and the tears are flowing freely. "And I'm so terrified of that, because I don't know what to do, I'm not sure I can manage alone and I certainly won't be able to get past this. And I know, I know very well what the failure rate is in severe PTSD cases. At this point, I'm more likely to be a part of the grim statistics than not, and even if I sometimes wish I hadn't survived, I _really_ don't want to die." My voice, even as a whisper, breaks. "I don't. But I don't know how to live, either. I don't know what to do, how to move past it, I can barely force myself awake in the mornings. I just want to curl up and hide, but I'm terrified of giving up."

"I know this question is a bitch of a question," Parker says softly. "I've been on the receiving end of it more often than I appreciate. But I'm still going to ask it, because if you manage to answer it might help. Isobel, what can we do?"

I gasp and shake my head, ignoring the sharp pain in my neck. Catherine will kill me if I mess my neck up more, but right now I don't care. "I don't – I –"

"Anything you can think of," Parker says firmly. "Games. Books. Music. A specific pair of socks."

That last one has me giggling, and the relief is profound. "I just… I just want out of here."

"Done," Parker says, and I open my eyes again to look at her. She sounds very sure.

"Parker," Bumblebee says softly, a quiet protest.

"No," Parker replies, shaking her head. "I don't care what the medics say. You heard her, Bee. She's one step away from not seeing the difference between this room and the cell she was tortured in. She needs to leave."

I'm a bit relieved that her words indicate that she doesn't know the full story. I can do with her only knowing what I tell her.

"I'll talk to Ratchet and Catherine," Bumblebee promises. His look shifts to me, and I reach for him, for the friend I haven't managed to drive away yet.

He comes willingly. His arms are warm, and strong, cradling me gently.

"Thank you," I sniffle, and damn the indignity of it, I don't care. "Both of you."

As Bumblebee lets go of me, Parker stands up and moves closer to the bed. "Do you want us to come back tomorrow?"

"Yes." I don't even have to think about it. "Please."

"Then we will," Bumblebee says, smiling that sweet smile at me. "I'll go talk to Ratchet. Parker, are you okay staying here until First Aid arrives? He'll be here as soon as Ratchet is free."

"Sure," Parker nods, smiling at him. "I'll be fine here for a little while. We both will, I think."

She waits until he's faded away, then climbs up on the bed next to me. I look at her curiously.

"So I've been thinking," she says without preamble. "The last five years have really sucked. And there are some things I've gone without for a while that I really want to do again."

I tilt my head, quirk an eyebrow at her. "Such as?"

"Girl talk." The grin is downright sly. "Up for it?"

I have to giggle, and again the relief is a heady, physical thing. It eases something in me that's frozen.

If someone had told me three months ago that I'd be talking girl talk with Parker Jamieson, I'd assume they'd have lost their minds. Then again, I don't think I would have predicted any of the other stuff that's happened here either.

"Sounds great," I reply. "We should get Alice too, though. I'm really curious to know what's going on with her and Streets."

I'm also realizing that I need this. I need the pleasant normalcy that comes from gossiping with girlfriends, including all the giggles and stuff that come with it.

"I can work with that," Parker smiles. "I've been here, and I'm still curious. I'll talk to her."

I nod. "Good. When?"

"In a week," she replies. "Next Friday. The three of us. Wherever it's private and you're comfortable. Alice brings popcorn, I bring something to replace the bubbly you're probably not allowed to drink, and you will be in charge of chocolate. Deal?"

I recognize a goal-setting when I hear it. But I think it'll be good for me. It's the first time in a while I've really looked forward to something.

"Deal."

"Good." She smiles. "Now close your eyes, Isobel. I can tell you're tired. I'll be right here. Hey, have you tried sleeping with music on?"

"No," I reply truthfully. "I don't have anything in here that can play music. Blaster almost had a fit."

"No music, no TV," she sighs. "No wonder you're going stir-crazy. Here, you like Debussy? This one always melts me."

I really don't care one way or the other what it is, but the music sooths me. I'm asleep before I know it.

* * *

I wake up from the touch of warm fingers against my face. They're stroking my cheek, slowly, lovingly, and there's only one person this can be.

I open my eyes and look at First Aid.

"Hey, love," he murmurs softly. "Missed you today."

I just tug at him to get him to snuggle closer. My new personal goal is to get well enough to get rid of these damn wires so I can snuggle properly. "Missed you, too. Slept a lot. Emotionally exhausting day."

"Ratchet told me that Parker and Bumblebee came by." He hesitates. "Did it help?"

That opens the floodgates. "I'm sorry," I whimper against his chest. "I've been horrible."

"Not horrible," he says comfortingly. "Hurting. It's understandable, love."

"It's not fair," I sob, clinging to him.

"It's not," he agrees. "Shh, love. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Warm, strong hands move over my arms and sides, and gradually I calm down.

First Aid kisses me, slowly, softly, and I finally relax. Mostly.

"I miss your fingers, magic touch," I whisper against his mouth. "I'm tense and sore all over."

"That's right," he chuckles. "I must owe you daily massages for at least a month by now. I promise we can work on that as soon as it's safe for your body to lie on your stomach."

"When'll that be?" I murmur, mellowing under the stroking touch to the front of my shoulders and hips. First Aid always knows where it hurts.

"It's mostly your neck we worry about," he replies. I can feel him nuzzling my hair. "You're due for a new set of x-rays soon, we'll know more then. Do you feel like you can eat something?"

"Open-faced grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches," I whisper back. "I want junk food. If that's possible."

He chuckles. "I think your stomach can handle it now, yeah. I'll put Groove on it. Want to shower in the meantime? I can get this bed changed?"

I recognize the eagerness in his voice – he's thrilled to have me this amenable. The last few days I've shot down every suggestion they've made.

A shower sounds great, too. I'm sticky and disgusting, and I'm sure I smell. Plus, I haven't been on my feet in days.

"Yes, please." I reach for him.

Of course, I have to wait for him to disconnect me from the damn wires.

"Do I really need all of those?" I pout.

"Yeah, unfortunately," he replies, flicking them. "IVs with fluid and antibiotics, EKG, oxygen saturation. We need them all on for another few days, love. But," and here he smiles, "you've improved enough that we can disconnect them all for a shower now. Not like last time when we had to drag that stand around."

"Well, that's a relief." I smile at him, and the smile I get in return is dazzling to say the least. If I was standing I would be weak in the knees.

I guess I haven't smiled a lot lately. Not judging by his reaction

When I'm finally disconnected, I reach for him again. "Help me up?"

No standing for me, apparently. First Aid picks me up bridal style, carrying me to the bathroom.

"You want me to wash your hair?" he offers, still smiling, as he puts me down on the stool. "And the rest of you? I'll spoil you rotten, I promise."

I lean against him as he begins unbuttoning my shirt. "Sounds nice."

And it is. First Aid's careful, gentle hands are a prescription drug on their own, and he's constantly crooning softly at me – talking me through what he's doing, telling me about his day, saying he loves me over and over again.

I needed that today.

When he stands me up to dry me properly, keeping an arm around me so I don't fall, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror again.

"Huh. I'm filling out again."

"Yes, you are," he agrees. "And you'll keep doing that as long as you eat properly."

"Good," I say emphatically. "I didn't enjoy looking like a starving wreck."

It is better. My hip bones aren't protruding anymore, and my ribs are barely visible. My cheeks aren't as sunken.

I giggle. "Soon I'll look like a human being again."

First Aid beams at me. "That's my Isobel." Then he leans in to kiss me hungrily, and I just melt.

Seriously. I collapse. He has to catch me.

"Easy, love," he chuckles. "Don't want more injuries, do you?"

"Then stop kissing me like that," I threaten, seriously hoping he'll just do it again.

"Never going to stop," he whispers, fulfilling my wish and kissing me again. "But we need to get you dressed. Groove's here with your sandwiches."

First Aid even puts my clothes on, still smiling all the while. He even presses tiny kisses to the parts of my body he's touching – first the knees, the stomach, then elbows, shoulders, the back of my neck. When he scoops me up bridal style again, I'm almost moaning.

Sly Protectobot.

Groove's waiting in my room, though, a plate of delicious-smelling food in his hands. He smiles when he sees me too.

I guess I must have been really horrible these last days.

First Aid puts me down in a chair this time. He shoots me a grin, then starts pulling the sheets from the bed.

Groove sits down in the chair next to me and hands me the plate. "Open-faced sandwiches, as m'lady ordered. I hope they're okay." He looks down, a bit bashful. "I sort of made them myself."

I stare from the food to him. "You made them? Groove, that's awesome. Thank you!" Impulsively, I lean in and kiss his cheek. I'm reasonably sure that aside from his hot chocolate none of the Autobots have cooked a human meal in their lives.

The smell is enough to make me cut into the food eagerly, grinning at the hidden tomatoes. "Just like I had in London."

"Exactly," he replies with a smile. "I remembered you liked those."

For the first time in days, I finish my food. Even though my eyelids are drooping and I'm pretty much ready to cave.

"Groove, you get the job," I mumble, leaning in against his shoulder as he secures the plate. "My pers'nal cook."

"It would be my pleasure, honey," he murmurs, bending down to scoop me up. "Sleep tight, huh? I'll come by and see you tomorrow."

"Bring something fun?" I sigh contentedly as First Aid reattaches me to the wires.

"You know it. Night, Belle."

I frown as my eyes close all the way. "No mangling my name. Or I'll be grumpy."

He chuckles. "Primus save us."

I guess he fades away, then, as First Aid climbs in the bed next to me and snuggles close. "Sleep, love. I'm right here."

"I really am sorry, Aid," I mumble, words almost blurring together. "I've been awful."

"You're forgiven, love. Always. And for the record, I'm also forgiving you for any future pain- or hurt-induced acting out that you may feel you need forgiving for. I love you."

"Promise?" There's almost no volume in me, and I'm mostly gone.

"Promise," he replies, kissing my eyelids. "You're adored, love. Now sleep."

There's silence for a while. And that's not enough, I realize suddenly, half-asleep though I am.

"First Aid?"

"Yes?"

"Can you sing to me?"

"I don't – that is, I'm not much of a singer, love."

"I don't care. I just – the silence, I can't take it. Anything's good. Humming, even. Just – please?"

"If it makes you feel better, love." He chuckles softly, his breath tickling my cheek. "But no laughing at my voice. It really isn't much to write home about."

He croons softly to me, no words, just a faintly familiar melody.

"Thanks," I sigh contentedly, finding his hand in the dark. "Night, Aid."

"Night, love." He begins humming again, and I finally relax all the way.


	30. Healing

Again, I wake up to the feel of fingers stroking my face gently. I don't even need to open my eyes to know who it is. I just smile and push into the touch.

"Good morning," First Aid croons, kissing my forehead. "Sleep well?"

I consider that with a bit of surprise. "You know, I actually did? Maybe I should have asked you to sing sooner, it could have spared me some nightmares."

"You should tell that to Blades," he chuckles. "He usually claims it's got the opposite effect."

"Nah," I grin, content and warm and _safe_ in his arms. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Apparently, nothing's urgent today. First Aid's just lying there, stroking my cheek, nuzzling my hair, and I'm pretending that the rest of the world doesn't exist. That the last month never happened. That we're all good.

Of course, it can't last.

"Good morning, my two lovebirds," Catherine says crisply, entering without knocking. "Rise and shine, Isobel."

"Nooo," I whine. "I disbelieve. It's not morning."

"It's very much morning," she says, and I can imagine the raised eyebrow. "Wake up now. We need to get some images taken of you before you eat."

I open my eyes. And get thoroughly distracted by the blue eyes and long gorgeous eyelashes right in front of my face.

First Aid is… I have no words.

"- and after that we'll know for sure, okay?"

I blink, tearing my focus away from my smiling holoform mate. I hadn't even noticed that Catherine was still talking.

"Huh?" I say, turning my head to look at her. "What were you saying?"

She snorts. "The powers save me from lovestruck fools. I said," and here she pokes me, which is none too pleasant, "that we'll need to do an x-ray of neck, wrists, ribs and ankles, and I'd like to do an ultrasound of your kidneys. If the results are good, I'm releasing you to the Protectobots' tender mercies today."

I would have sat bolt upright if I could move that much. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," First Aid murmurs against my hair. "You're coming home with me, love."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" I look from First Aid's happy face to Catherine's smirking one. "Let's get these pictures taken already!"

"So eager to leave my care," Catherine tuts. I look from her to First Aid pointedly, and she laughs. "Oh, fine. I suppose I can understand why you would rather be with your handsome, doting boyfriend and his tribe of caring brothers than stay here in this room with me visiting you twice a day. Which I will still do, I might add. I don't care what First Aid or Ratchet says, you're my patient until I'm sure you're healthy."

"Sounds good enough," I agree. "Now, where do we need to go to take pictures?"

"Patience, love," First Aid chuckles, nuzzling me. "We'll roll you out of here in a moment."

Catherine disconnects me from all my wires as First Aid gets out of bed. A brief wave of blue sparks, and sleep-rumpled clothing and tangled hair is replaced by clean jeans and a white and red t-shirt, hair pulled back into its usual ponytail.

I'm insanely jealous. I can feel how sweaty and itchy and crumpled I am.

"Please tell me I can shower later."

"Sure," Catherine says easily. "That'll give me a chance to go over the results with Ratchet and First Aid, decide on your future."

"I always wanted to be an additional second second assistant director," I muse. "Think you could get me a job in the movie business?"

"I hear they're making something on giant alien robots," First Aid deadpans. "Your expertise would probably be valued."

"Very funny," Catherine snorts.

I giggle. "It kind of was."

"Fine," she sighs in mock exasperation, then smiles. "Ready to go?"

"Me transmitte sursum, caledoni!" I reply, grinning.

I get two blank stares for that.

"Okay, we need to work on your geekiness," I say sternly, watching both of them.

"Well, it's a few corridors down to where we're going," Catherine replies. "You can educate us on the way."

* * *

"There." First Aid smiles and kisses my cheek. "Feel better?"

"Much," I reply, looking at myself in the mirror. "Thanks, Aid."

First Aid's hairdressing skills are improving. I look almost normal. If you can ignore the too-wide eyes and slightly sunken cheeks, that is.

"Good. I'm sorry that your shower had to be postponed. We have to work around everyone's schedule."

I shrug one shoulder slightly. That doesn't hurt too bad. "Them's the breaks. Maybe you can help me later."

"Maybe," he agrees. "Let's get you back to your room. I have it on good authority that you'll like what Groove's brought you for breakfast."

I perk up. "Ooh! Groove's cooking! I'll go for that."

But when we get back to the room, it's not Groove waiting for us.

It's Mirage.

Well, that's unexpected.

He doesn't seem to comfortable, either. He looks from me to First Aid and back, finely arched eyebrows drawn down.

"Mirage," First Aid says. "Good morning."

"Good morning," the dark-haired holoform echoes. "I apologize, I know it must be a surprise to see me." He gestures towards a covered tray waiting on my bed. "I've brought your breakfast, Isobel."

"O-kay?"

I let First Aid lead me to a chair, and sit somewhat patiently as he reconnects all my dumb wires. I'm still staring at Mirage, though, and he doesn't seem comfortable.

I do remember forgiving him. We made up, got past it, decided to stop thinking about it. All done with.

That doesn't mean I expected him to be one of my minders. I'd have thought that this would be as awkward for him as it is for me.

He's gracious enough, though. Picking up the tray, setting it gently on my lap. Taking a seat in another chair, a few seats away from me, waiting quietly until First Aid's done with the medical stuff.

So I just decide to ignore him. At least until I'm done with my breakfast.

Which First Aid was totally right about. Because Groove's made breakfast scones. And they're still warm.

"Your brother is taking to cooking like a fish to water," I comment, inhaling the delicious smell.

"He enjoys it," First Aid replies with a smile. "He's going to spoil you rotten. He's been practicing his desserts, too. Alice says that if she has to sample one more sugary goodie she's going to turn into Augustus Gloop. Whatever that means."

I snicker at that. "That wouldn't be a good look for her. She's got too much red hair. Then again, it's not a good look for anybody."

"I think I need a crash course in human cultural references," Mirage says faintly.

First Aid snorts a laugh. "We all do. Streetwise swears he only understands every second word that comes out of Alice's mouth."

I bite into the first scone with relish. The sound that comes out of me – which I will deny to my deathbed – at the taste is almost obscene.

"These are divine," I moan, the tone of my voice more suited to other activities. I can tell Mirage agrees by the way his head shoots up, wide eyes staring at me. It's an unneeded reminder that he's heard me make those kind of noises before.

"I'll tell Groove," First Aid says, and his voice is darker too. Sultry. Goes straight to my damn ovaries.

The kiss he gives me before walking back around the bed is enough to speed my heartbeat up to truly irresponsible levels. Apparently, I need to experiment with these noises a bit. Or he's just missed me as much as I've missed him.

"If you're okay, I'll go talk to Catherine and Ratchet," he says, shooting a quick glance at Mirage. "Call me if you need me."

He walks out, and the silence gets really awkward really fast. Mirage isn't big on small talk, and I just don't know what to say.

So I eat my scones. Waste not, want not, right?

"I am glad to see that you're doing better," Mirage says after a while.

"Thank you." It's all I can think of to say.

There's another pregnant silence.

"I'm here because Groove needed to work with the rest of his brothers to prep for your arrival," he says. "I was the only one available on such short notice. I hope you don't mind my presence too much."

I push away my empty plate, manage to move the whole tray over to another chair. Time to face the Cybertronian elephant in the room.

"I don't mind," I reply, and it's the truth. "I was surprised, I won't argue that."

That didn't help much. He still doesn't seem to know what to say.

So I choose a new subject. One that I'm actually curious to learn more about.

"So tell me about Hound. He seems pleasant." I turn in my chair slightly so I can look at my visitor.

Mirage looks surprised for a moment, but he covers it quickly. "Hound is… curious. And fascinated. He's interested in everything, he loves exploring and learning, and he thinks this planet is wonderful." He chuckles lightly. "Last week, he brought home a crate of insect eggs. He says he wants to watch them hatch. I tried to tell him that humans in general seem somewhat put off by spiders, and the idea that he's hatching a couple trillion of them on this base might make some of them upset, but he seems to think it's a good idea."

"Spiders," I echo, eyes wide. "A couple trillion of them. No, you're right. I'm with you on this one."

He smiles slightly, then, showing off exactly how handsome he is. "Don't worry. I'll make sure they won't survive more than a couple of days. Enough to satisfy his curiosity, and then they'll all die mysteriously without ever getting out of their crate. So sad."

Casually plotting insect mass murder. I raise an eyebrow at him. "Mirage, what is it that you do? What's your job?"

"I'm special operations," he smirks. "Jazz's unit. I do infiltration and espionage."

I stare at him, then giggle. "I should've figured that. It explains a lot." Like how he calmly talks of eradicating a generation of tiny nasty critters. And then I remember what they told me in the briefing. "You went with him, didn't you? To – to look for me?"

He looks down, frowns slightly. "I did. I count it among my greatest failures that you were on that base and we didn't find you. That is twice I've failed you utterly. I cannot apologize enough for that."

Aaand the pleasant mood is gone. I really don't want to go back to that place right now. "It's okay," I whisper. "It sucks all around."

"Yes. Yes, it does at that. And I am very, very glad to have you back with us, Isobel. Let me know if there's anything I can do to make it up to you."

"You can help me pretend it didn't happen for a while," I say with real feeling. "I just want to feel like myself. I don't feel I'm me anymore, I'm just trauma. Isobel-shaped trauma."

He stares at me. Well, I guess it's understandable. I am talking like a crazy person. "I'll… do my best."

"Thank you." Switching subjects now. Forcefully. "So how does that work, anyway, you being a spy? Your root mode's not exactly discreet. Neither is your alt mode, for that matter."

"Doesn't have to be," he smiles, and now he's preening. "Don't need discretion when I can turn invisible."

I stare at him. "No way."

"Oh, I assure you, darling. It's the truth." He hesitates for a moment, looking at me. Probably wondering how I'm going to react to that pet name from him again.

I don't mind, though. It's a small think to work past.

"That, you will have to show me at some point," I say, pointing at him. "I want a full demonstration."

"Tell you what," he says, pointing back at me. "You heal up well enough that you can take a walk outside by May Day, I'll show you everything you want."

"Deal," I reply, holding out my hand for him to shake. After a moment, he takes it.

"So can Hound turn invisible too?" I ask, curious. I didn't know they could do weird things like that.

"No, that's just me," he says. "But Hound can do almost the mirror image of that. I can make it so that you can't see me even when I'm right in front of you. He's got a hologram projector that'll let you see things that aren't really there."

I absorb that for a moment. "You guys are so sci-fi it's not even funny."

"Jealous?" He's smirking at me, handsome bastard that he is.

"You know it." I grin. "All we humans have got is… well, nothing worth talking about, really. All those films that say human beings are worth saving because we've got some innate, inane capability of something-or-other are full of blatant lies."

"Oh, I don't know," he says loftily. "Your berth prowess is quite captivating."

There. Right there. I laugh until my head hurts, and I know we're good. We've moved past it. And I'm allowed to live in the moment again and not in the hellish past month.

Thank you, Mirage. And I can't quite quell the surprise that he of all mechs would be the one best suited for making me forget.

"Welcome to Earth," I giggle. "The organics are initially unfriendly, but if you can get them naked there are all kinds of interesting possibilities."

When First Aid comes back in with Ratchet and Catherine, both Mirage and I are laughing hard enough to be teary-eyed, and my cheeks hurt.

"Well, you two are getting along again at least," Ratchet says, arching an eyebrow and staring from one to the other.

"Like a house on fire," I giggle, trying to get my breathing back under control. My ribs are aching.

"Right," Ratchet replies, eyeing me. "Ready to listen?"

"Hit me," I nod, still breathless but at least slightly more in control over myself.

Catherine shows me a pad with pictures of my insides on it. How fascinating.

"As you see," she says, even though she has to be aware that I don't know what the heck I'm looking at, "the micro-fractures are still pronounced. Your ribs are healing as they should, as are your ankles, but your wrists and neck have seen altogether too much motion to heal up properly. I see braces in your future, young lady. You need to keep your hands and your head still."

"Your skin is healing nicely as well," First Aid puts in. "The electrical burns are fading, as are the bruises and abrasions. Another week or so, and the wounds on your head and knee will have closed."

"Yes, when it comes to your knee," Catherine continues, switching to another image on the pad. This time I can't tell what it's supposed to be, though I bet it makes perfect sense to the three medics crowding me. "It seems to be healing as it should, and we'll get started on a plan of physiotherapy for you. It'll be easy-going until the wound's healed all the way. After that, expect pain."

I snort. "Thanks. That's encouraging."

"Your infections have cleared up, which is good news," Ratchet says. "That means no more antibiotics. Even though you're still not eating as you should, you're at least getting better. And your concussion's healed."

"Last, but not least," Catherine says, and now she's smiling. "Your kidneys. They're good."

"They're good?" I repeat, looking from one to the other. "Healed up?"

"All healed up," Ratchet confirms, and he's smiling too. "Do you know what that means?"

"I don't need this anymore," I grin, pulling at my thrice-cursed wires.

"That's correct," Catherine agrees. "No more IVs, no more monitoring. We can disconnect you from everything."

The thrilled squeal I let out is sharp enough to make Ratchet wince.

"It does mean, though, that you'll need to take painkillers in pill form if you need them," Catherine cautions.

"Don't mind, don't care, never had any problems with pills," I chant. "Get me disconnected already."

First Aid chuckles. "Have you forgotten what else it means, love?"

I gasp at the look on his face, because I completely had. "I'm leaving? I'm coming with you?"

"Yes," he whispers, beaming. "Yeah, Isobel, you're coming with me."

And then I'm crying again. I want to stitch my damn tear ducts shut after this, I'm so done with crying. Can't seem to stop though. At least this time I'm crying and smiling at the same time.

"There are conditions," Catherine says, eyeing me sternly as she presses a compress to the IV needle on my hand so Ratchet can pull it out. "Neck brace. Wrist braces. Eating regularly. No movement beyond what is absolutely necessary. Obey your minders in this, or I will make Cliffjumper sit on you."

"He'll do it, too," Ratchet says. "So behave."

"Yes, doctor," I reply, as meekly as I can. Catherine shoots me a Look.

And the last wire comes off.

I'd bounce up and down if they'd let me. Instead, I stretch my arms out in front of me, raise them over my head, rotate my shoulders.

That last one was a bad idea. I wince at the sharp pain in my neck.

"Neck brace," Catherine reminds me sternly.

"Yes, ma'am." I grin back at her. "Can I shower first, though? Since I didn't get to, earlier?"

First Aid's face falls slightly. "Pit. I'm sorry, love. I have to go help my brothers set your suite up if you want to get out of here today."

That sucks. I've come to rely on him helping me. But if the price for my shower is spending another day in this room, well, I'm not paying that.

"It's okay, Aid," I reply, reaching out to run a finger down his cheek. That can't aggravate my wrist fractures too much, not compared to all the petting and comforting I've been doing this last week. "I can live with being a bit sticky."

"I wish I could help," Catherine sighs. "But there's a court meeting in Vale's case later today that I have to be present for. Parker and Bumblebee are going, too."

"Get me a cloth, then, and I'll fix myself up," I offer. "Then you can go get that bastard locked away."

"If you want to," another voice says, and I had actually completely forgotten that Mirage was in the room. He moves to stand in front of the bed, saving me from turning my head to look for him. He looks uncertain, and isn't that a strange look for him. "I can help you, Isobel,"

Oh hell no. Forgiven, moved past, yes, but there's no way I'm comfortable with Mirage helping me shower.

He must have noticed from the look on my face. Or from First Aid's incredulous stare – or Ratchet's, for that matter.

"I don't mean in the shower," he replies, raising his head defensively. "Primus. But if you have a basin or something, I can get her hair washed while she's in that bed. And help with her legs, her feet. Maybe a foot bath."

That… would actually be heavenly.

I raise an eyebrow at him, though. "You'd really want to pamper me like that?"

"I said I'd do anything, Isobel," he replies simply.

First Aid stares at him.

And then I laugh. I can't help it. Not even when First Aid and Ratchet stare at me as though I'm mad – well, madder than I've been lately.

"So," I giggle, pointing at Mirage. "So I have a personal manservant slash hairdresser. And I have a cook. I'm pretty sure I have a chauffeur if I just say I want one. What more do I need? Cath, you've got that exclusive accent, what other kind of servants should I have?"

"I do not have an exclusive accent," Catherine replies loftily. "I am well-educated, that's all. I am not a toff."

A… what?"

Must look that word up.

"I shall get my lady a footman, if my lady would like," Mirage says. "A personal masseuse is proper, as is a personal dresser and laundress. If my lady wishes," and here he bows elaborately, "I myself would be honored to serve as head of my lady's household, and set out these things to my lady's satisfaction."

I gape. So does Catherine.

Ratchet raises an eyebrow at Mirage. Then he snorts and turns his attention back to me. "Slagging Towerling."

I sense a story. Perhaps I can hassle Mirage for it while he does my hair.

…okay, that's a sentence I never thought I'd put together.

Catherine pulls herself together first. "Right. Moving on. Isobel, do you have any questions?"

"Not medical ones," I reply, trying to remember to not shake my head. "And if I come up with some…" I wink at First Aid. "Well, I have a personal medic too, don't I"

"My lady's needs are met," Mirage murmurs softly, but he's smirking.

* * *

_Mirage is as good as his word. I haven't been pampered and spoiled like that in… well, ever, I think. Now if only I could top this with one of First Aid's massages. Unfortunately, my neck's not up to me lying on my front just yet._

_Mirage is still here. He's reading in some magazine or other. I'm supposed to be sleeping, but for once I'm not tired so I'm sneaking some writing time instead. Screw that I'm not supposed to use my hand – if I'm careful, it'll be fine. I hope._

_Gah, I can't wait to get out of here. I can't wait for First Aid to come back and pick me up. Mirage did something fancy with my hair, and I actually look healthy again. Somewhat, anyway._

_Who'd've thought that he had that kind of skills?_

_For that matter, who would've thought a few months ago that I'd have Mirage prettying me up for my boyfriend? It's just surreal._

* * *

"You're supposed to be resting," Mirage says wryly. "I can hear your pen scratching against that paper. Why haven't you changed to electronic journaling instead?"

"Don't know," I shrug lightly. "This feels more permanent somehow."

"When in fact, it is less permanent," he replies, still not looking away from whatever he's reading.

"At least this one won't fritz if I drop it in the bathtub."

He chuckles. "Yes, well. I suppose there is that." Then he does look up. "Read me the final sentence?"

I look down at the journal. "It's just surreal."

Mirage snorts at that. "Well, that's the truth of everything elegantly summarized in three words, isn't it?"

"Huh. Yeah, I guess you're right about that."

He is. And the funny thing is, I hadn't really thought about it that way. This whole coexistence of mine with the Autobots has happened so gradually that I haven't considered it. And now here I am, waiting excitedly for my alien carformer lover to come pick me up so I can go live with him and his four brothers, who share a bond deeper than any humans do and can hear each other's thoughts. Oh, and turn into one huge individual at will.

It's enough to have me giggling. Mirage quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Reality's insane," I reply by way of explanation. I'm still snickering.

"Truer words were never spoken," he agrees dryly.

I guess it must be weird for him too. He's stuck on an alien planet, still fighting a war that's lasted long enough to kill his own planet, he's housed at an army base, hiding in secret, and currently babysitting an injured native organism whose species is lightyears behind his own in technology and knowledge.

Surreal indeed.

"Mirage, do you miss Cybertron?"

Now he puts the magazine down, looks at me. "As it is? No, I don't miss Cybertron as it is. As it was, though…" Those dark eyes meet mine. "I do suspect, Isobel, that you're no stranger to the idea of wishing that one could turn back time."

He's right about that. I know that desire intimately.

"There are two distinct feats about Cybertron as it was," he muses, leaning back in the chair. "One is, it was breathtakingly beautiful. There was so much loveliness to absorb, and I had the time and inclination to take in all of it. Perfect, crisp magnificence."

"I know," I whisper. "I've seen pictures."

"Yes, I heard. Trust me when I say that those pictures can only convey a mere smidgeon of the full beauty. The real place was so much more than those pictures show." He sighs. "I used to spend orns just watching, sensing. My station granted me the benefits and chance to fully immerse myself in the things I found beautiful in our society. Beautiful crystals. Beautiful cities. Beautiful art." He wiggles his eyebrows at me. "Beautiful mechs."

I snort a laugh at that.

"On the other hand…" he continues softly. "On the other hand, Cybertron was flawed. _We_ were flawed. While I was wasting my days partying and pursuing the arts, mechs were starving just outside our walls. I was enjoying the finest high grade credits could buy, and the raw energon for it was mined by mere younglings trapped in the dark beneath the planet's surface. The system was flawed, from the top down." He draws a deep, shuddering breath. "I shoulder my share of the blame in that. And yet not a day goes by where I do not wish that nothing had changed." He looks across at me. "Does that make me a terrible person?"

I blink at him. Then I switch into professional mode, because that's what he needs. And that's a relief, too – I'm functioning again. And Mirage's grief has absolutely nothing to do with me.

"No, it does not," I reply quietly. "But my opinion is unimportant. Do you feel like a terrible person?"

"I do," he whispers. "At times, I feel like I shouldn't have survived the fall of the Towers. I know others have thought so as well. I don't even like to fight, did you know that? So I was a poor caretaker of Cybertron back then, and I'm at best a mediocre Autobot now."

"I do not believe that," I reply. "And I'm certain Hound would agree with me."

"Hound," he sighs, smiling slightly. "Hound sees the best in everyone."

I smile back. "So what does he see that is best in you?"

"He's also not realistic," Mirage says, and there's a trace of sadness in his voice.

"Now, see, that sounds like self-deceit to me," I reply, and now it's my turn to arch an eyebrow at him.

He just arches one back and doesn't reply.

"You two are bondmates, correct?" I wait for his nod before continuing. "So you can talk telepathically. Is he awake?"

"Yes," Mirage answers with clear reluctance, and I grin at him.

"Then ask him," I prompt. "Ask him what he sees that is best in you, and say out loud what he tells you."

Mirage shakes his head wryly, but he does as I say. The resulting dialogue is strange-sounding, to say the least. Mirage switches back and forth between his own precise tones and the rounder, more relaxed pronunciation that sounds more like Hound's. It's almost disorienting to listen to.

"Hound, love. Do you have a moment?

"'Raj? Yeah, I'm off duty, what do you need?

"I'm with Isobel. Somehow my caretaking duties turned into a therapy session. And she gave me a task." Mirage smirks at me. "She seems to think I'm better than I think I am, and she says you'll agree with her. So she wants me to ask you what it is you see that is so good in me that it got me you, and she wants me to tell her your reply out loud. So she's hearing everything we say.

"Wow. Hey, Isobel."

I giggle. "Hey, Hound."

"She says hey. So…

"So I'm completely agreeing with her, lover. You know I've said before that you don't see yourself very clearly at all. The fall of Cybertron is not on you, love, no matter how hard it is for you to realize."

"Ask him what is best in you," I prompt quietly.

Mirage frowns and turns his attention away from me again. "I know, dearest. It's just… well. You know.

"I do know.

"Isobel wonders if you can put it into words for me, love. Why I'm good.

"Oh boy, 'Raj. Where do I start." There's a brief pause. "You're generous. You don't carry grudges, not even against your enemies. You never stop striving to better yourself. You're honest. You're kind-hearted, though sometimes you forget that and your upbringing runs away with you."

Mirage chuckles. I do, too.

"You forgive," Mirage continues, and he's still talking as Hound. "Everyone but yourself. You're dedicated – you give everything you've got, often at the expense of your own safety and comfort. Pit, you've spent a lifetime atoning for something that's not your fault.

"You think so highly of me.

"I always have, love. Ever since I met you. I've never seen anyone fight so hard to prove themselves. You've got such _strength_ , 'Raj. That's what drew me in about you. I know you've thought about giving up, I know there are days when you'd rather not have existed. But you don't see what I see.

"And what is it you see," Mirage says quietly, hesitantly.

"I see someone who weathers every storm, even if he stands in it alone. Someone who went against everything he knew, everything that was safe, to try to convince his friends and family that they were going down the wrong path. Someone who does what's right, even if it hurts him, even when everyone gives him grief for it, even when those who should be his friends abandon him."

Mirage's voice is cracking up. I can see the wetness on his cheeks from here. He doesn't stop the narrative, though.

"You're the strongest person I know, 'Raj. I've seen it the whole time, and I can feel it in your spark. Every time you forget how amazing you are, I'm going to remind you. Every time you doubt, I'll be right there. Every time you –"

And Mirage breaks. He curls up in the chair, hiding his head in his arms. And I'm stuck in this bed and can't go to him.

Someone else can, though. The blue sparks have hardly solidified before Hound's voice comes through.

"Every time you fall apart," he says softly, "I'm going to be right there to put you back together. And you're allowed to fall apart, love. You're allowed to grieve. You're allowed to regret. That doesn't make you a bad person. It just makes you a person."

He kneels down in front of Mirage's chair, and the dark-haired holoform collapses into his arms.

Hound looks up at me. _Hi, Isobel_ , he mimes.

 _Hi_ , I mime back. _Sorry about this_.

_He needs this. So I should be thanking you._

"Come on, you two," I say softly. "Get out of here. Go talk. Go do whatever you guys do."

Hound pulls his mate to his feet, wipes the tears away with his thumb. "C'mon, 'Raj. Fade away. Let's get out of here for a while."

Mirage nods, then pulls away. He does the blue spark thing for a moment, and reappears tear-streak free and unrumpled in front of me.

"Thanks, darling." He leans in and kisses my cheek, which is more than I would have let him do just an hour ago. "Will you be alright on your own until First Aid comes back?"

"I'm a big girl," I grin. "I tie my own sandals and everything. I'm good. Go."

Mirage smiles slightly, then steps back into his mate's arms. The blue sparks fade away.

I last for about three minutes before I'm freaking out. So with trembling fingers, I dig out my phone – my normal, Samsung one, since Wheeljack hasn't replaced my special one yet – and put on some music.

And breathe.

Slowly. Evenly.

When the son ends, I start it over again. And over. And over.

I start it for the seventh time with markedly calmer fingers.

The twentieth time, my breathing's normal. I don't have to focus on it.

The twenty-seventh time, I dare to close my eyes.

* * *

I wake up at the gentle touch of fingers on my cheek. This is becoming a habit.

"Hey, First Aid," I mutter sleepily. "Is it move time yet?"

"It is," he replies softly. "If you're up to it."

"Give me a chance to wake up proper," I whisper, turning into his touch. "Just lie here with me for a little while?"

First Aid acquiesces, of course, snuggling close to me and nuzzling at my hair. His hand is moving gently across the bare skin on my stomach.

I'm very comfortable. Waking up all the way is not tempting.

"Hey, Aid, didya make sure that you can fit in the bed next to me at your place too?" I murmur drowsily.

"Of course," he chuckles, hand tightening possessively around me for a moment. "It's a regular bed, love, built just for you, not a hospital bed. Plenty of room for the both of us." He kisses my cheek. "And unless you kick me out, I'll be right next to you every night."

Normal bed. With First Aid in it.

Yeah, I can go for that.

First Aid kisses me again, forehead this time. "Isobel, when I came in here you were all alone."

"Oh, yeah," I sigh contentedly. "I kind of broke Mirage, so I had to send him away."

He pulls back, and I open my eyes to see him staring at me with mirth in his eyes. "You _broke_ him?"

"It turned into a treatment session," I reply sternly, "and you know I can't discuss those. But yes, I kind of did, and Hound took him out of here."

"You could have called for me," he says quietly, one hand stroking and stroking at my hair.

"I probably could," I agree, "and you would have come running, because that's what you do. But I need to find my feet again, Aid. I have to try being myself again at some point. And that includes being alone. I'm actually quite good at that, you know, I have years of practice." For some reason I'm still holding on to my phone, so I lift my hand and show him. "The music helps."

He hums in agreement. "That's why you wanted me to sing."

"Yeah." I pause, wondering if I should go into detail. But First Aid's looking at me, and I'm melting into those eyes, and I figure he can take it. We can both take it. "The cell in the brig had some noise, but the other room must have been soundproofed or something, because I never heard a thing. Whenever I was alone in there, the world outside might as well not exist. And the acoustics were weird – the sounds I made were swallowed. It freaked me out at first." I sigh. "Then again, everything did."

Blue eyes are looking at me. When he blinks slowly, I can see the shade of individual eye lashes on his cheeks.

"So you want a music player in your room?"

I stare at him. "You made me an actual room?"

First Aid smirks, leaning his forehead against mine. "Wait and see. I don't want to ruin the surprise." He kisses me, softly, gently, and I can finally lift my arms and pull him closer. No damn wires in the way anymore. And even though my left leg's kind of immobile, my right one does a fair job of tugging him all the way until we're lying flush against each other. First Aid's a comforting weight across my right leg and hip.

He hums against my mouth, and I can tell he's smiling. "Careful, love. Ratchet will have my plating if I mess up your healing."

"You're far too conscientious for that," I reply, letting my hands tangle in his hair. "Besides, I'm fairly sure my mouth was never hurt."

First Aid doesn't need any more invitation than that. His lips are back on mine before I'm done talking.

For all his wanting to take things slow until I'm healed, he's sure heating me up fast. And he's not really doing that much, either. It's almost embarrassing. But that hand is still stroking my stomach and sides, eagerly, possessively and staying well clear of my ribs. The other hand's cradling my cheek, locking me against his mouth, and I can feel my heart pounding in the rapid pulse against his fingertips.

"Primus, Isobel," he grunts after half an eternity. "Please tell me you're a fast healer."

I laugh through my breathlessness. "I'm hoping to be. Keep encouraging me like that, and I'll be good in no time."

He grins, pressing kisses down my throat. "Sexual healing, huh? Guess the song really has some merit."

"Well, your name is First Aid," I shoot back, and the playful banter is enough to make me feel lightheaded.

He laughs at that and nuzzles my stomach, pushing my shirt out of the way. "Are we going with the medic tropes now?"

"Anything to speed my healing up," I joke, but I can't quite hide what his actions are doing to me.

First Aid turns around, leans up on his elbows. "Much as I would wish to continue this," he says, and the husky quality of his voice tells me exactly how true that is, "we can't, love. Not only because it would make your injuries worse, but because they're waiting for us."

"Then stop promising things you can't deliver," I say sternly. "A girl would think you were playing games."

"My girl knows better," he grins, kissing my stomach again. Then he twists away easily and slides off the bed. "Come on, love. Let's get you out of here."

A few minutes of hectic dressing later, and with hastily fit braces on my neck and wrists, I'm being wheeled out of the clinic in a wheelchair. First Aid's alt mode's waiting outside, and he lifts me into the front seat with a wide smile on his face.

Someone is happy to take me home.

The wheelchair is tossed in the back almost recklessly, and First Aid begins moving. The holoform is as usual not present while we're driving – I don't know why that's almost always the case, but I don't mind. I'm not sure I'd know where to look if he was here in two forms at once.

As it is, I settle for caressing every bit of car internals I can get my hands on.

The drive is too short, and I look up at the familiar building. It hasn't changed in the last month, which is unsurprising, but it doesn't feel the same.

I guess I'm the one who's changed. Hopefully not too much.

First Aid places me back in the wheelchair carefully. "Ready?"

I just nod, as much as I'm able to with this dumb brace on.

First Aid pushes the chair towards the door. I can feel my heart speeding up.

As soon as we're past the doorway, we're surrounded.

Seriously. I'm practically mobbed. And it's not just First Aid's brothers – Alice is here, Bumblebee and Parker (and Fergus) are here, and I can see Optimus, Ratchet _and_ Prowl and Jazz hovering in the background.

You'd think nothing interesting ever happened in this place, with all the audience I've got. They're all talking on top of each other too. The din is intense.

"Isobel!" Alice gushes. "Wow, you look so much better!"

I manage a smile and a slight nod. "Thanks. I feel better, too."

"Hungry?" Groove asks, smiling back at me.

I couldn't eat right now if I tried. This is too much – too many people, too close, and I'm being swarmed. It doesn't help that with me in a wheelchair they're all taller than me.

"Oh, will you lot let her in already?" Ratchet grouches. "Isobel, I have to check you over real quick before I get back to medbay. Aid, will you get her to her room?"

Trust Ratchet to clear a crowd. The fact that the whole command staff is standing there as well probably helps.

As the others move out of the way, I finally get to see the changes made to the Protectobot hangar.

It takes me a moment to realize that I'm gaping.

They've built a house. Inside the hangar. An actual, although tiny, wooden house, with actual doors and windows and stuff. It's tucked in against the corner, leaving lots of space for the Protectobots to use, but it's still a house.

"Whoa. You built this for me?"

"Yeah," Blades says, smirking. "Like it?"

"We thought you'd prefer some privacy, Isobel," Hot Spot explains, smiling down at me. "So you didn't have to spend all your time in full view against the wall or something. You're of course welcome to spend as much time out here with us as you want anyway, but we figured it would be good to have a retreat."

First Aid stops outside the door, and since he's pushing the chair I stop too. I have half a second to wonder what's going on before I'm scooped out of the chair, my Protectobot grinning at me. He leans in to whisper in my ear.

"There's something in human culture about couples and thresholds, isn't there?"

I'm fairly certain no one could hear what he said, but I'm blushing so hard that they probably get it anyway. "That's after weddings," I hiss back, trying not to move my lips. "Not kidnappings."

He shrugs, taking care not to jostle me. "In many cultures, those are the same thing."

I just stare at him, one eyebrow lifted as high as it goes.

First Aid, the scoundrel, winks at me and carries me inside easily.

Inside is just as cutely tiny as outside. There's a small living room, a tiny kitchenette, a bathroom (and I'm endlessly fascinated that my little house seems to have fully functional, normal plumbing), a tiny storage space, and a bedroom. With a bed that looks like it could fit five.

"Um," I say, staring at what has to be a custom-built piece of furniture. "What's with the huge bed? You said it would be normal."

"Blades went a little overboard," First Aid replies, chuckling. "Apparently, Parker and Alice were overheard talking about girls' night, which led to sleepovers, which led to the fact that this place has no guest room, which led to –"

"- Blades building me a bed that could fit a whole family," I agree, nodding as minutely as I'm able. "I get it."

"Of course," First Aid purrs, depositing me carefully on the soft surface, "it does have other interesting uses."

Oh, that voice does decidedly naughty things to my body.

"Better not promise something you won't go through with," I warn, but I can feel the heat from earlier rising in my cheeks again.

"Better not try _anything_ until I check her up after transport," a gruff voice says, and I'm instantly mortified. I had completely forgotten about Ratchet and this – probably completely unnecessary – post-transport check-up.

First Aid's just grinning, though. I swear that 'Bot has gained some serious confidence somewhere, he's much more brazen than he was when I first met him.

It's seriously hot.

My blush refuses to fade.

Ratchet, bless him, goes over everything quickly and efficiently. He can probably tell why First Aid's hovering, and why my breathing's faster than it should be.

"I'll come back again tomorrow evening," the medic says finally, straightening. He shoots First Aid a glare. "Mind her neck."

"Yes, Ratchet," First Aid says meekly, but his smirk is anything but. It's enough to have me shivering.

Ratchet just shakes his head at us, though. "Younglings." Then he's gone, and I barely have time to take a breath before I'm covered in hot Protectobot.

"You have no idea how I've been thinking of you," First Aid breathes, pressing tiny kisses across my jaw. My shirt is already unbuttoned, and I'm half wondering if I came here like that because I really didn't notice him doing that. Of course, I could have been distracted by those hands roving over me.

"How still can you keep, Isobel?" First Aid murmurs, mouth moving on my stomach.

With this kind of motivation? "I can keep very, very still."

"Good. Don't move your head at all."

And then my pants disappear as well.

First Aid kisses his way across my stomach. He's muddling my brain completely, and it takes me a moment to realize that he's following the faint burn marks Soundwave left behind. Once again, he's erasing another's touch on me and replacing it with his own.

"First Aid, I love you," I gasp, goosebumps racing across my skin in response to his touch.

"Well, that's lucky," he smirks. "Because I love you, too."

And then his hand travel up the inside of my leg. I really have to focus on lying still, because my body's responding more heavily than ever before, and I'm already wet enough that my underwear's completely soaked.

First Aid smirks at me again, and pulls of my underwear in one smooth motion. And then his mouth is on me, and I can't do anything but moan and focus on not moving, gasping as his tongue presses, explores, _tastes_ , oh my God…!

I'm arching off the bed before I know what I'm doing, screaming his name.

When I catch my breath again, First Aid's right in front of my face, smiling at me.

"You're amazing," I whisper, lifting a hand to his face. "Please tell me this place has soundproofing."

He ducks his head, blushing slightly. "Probably not as much as you'd wish."

I contemplate that for a moment before shrugging minutely. "Oh, well. Maybe I should get them earplugs or something."

He leans down, soft lips touching mine gently. It's not quite a kiss, but it's definitely enough to get me going again. "Are you saying you're planning on being loud?"

I lift my arms to pull him closer. "I'm planning to be as loud as you can make me," I murmur, catching his earlobe with my teeth and nibbling at it. "Can you handle that, mate of mine?"

First Aid groans and kisses me needily.

I'll take that as a yes.

* * *

It's dark in my house. I can barely see the outline of First Aid. But it's enough to let me snuggle closer as much as the brace will let me.

"Can't sleep?" he murmurs.

"No. Sing to me?"

I can feel smooth lips pressing against my forehead. "Anything for you, love."

I fall asleep again to First Aid's quiet crooning in my ear, his hand gently stroking my stomach.


	31. Coping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second-to-last chapter I'm back-posting. That means that after this Friday, the posting schedule slows down dramatically. I aim for every other Friday, but if I'm delayed it's just a delay. I'll try to never be more than a week late.

"Good, now press against my hand. And relax. Again. And relax. Good job, Isobel." First Aid smiles at me and walks around to the other side of the bench. "We'll do the same on this side, to prepare your leg for bearing weight again. With as long as you've been off your feet, there is a lot of muscle atrophy." He picks up my right leg, rests it against his lower arm. "Now press against my hand."

Trust my Protectobot to download everything ever written about physical therapy just so he can do my workouts himself. I'd swear he gets off on seeing me in pain if I didn't know better.

"Good," he praises, pressing a quick kiss to my knee. "Ready to try standing?"

"I thought that was a few days off yet," I reply, slightly confused. "Didn't you say that yesterday? That walking would have to wait?"

"Walking, yes," he confirms, putting my leg down gently. "But you need to stand before you can walk, love. So do you want to try?"

"Heck yeah!" I nod eagerly. "Give me a hand up?"

First Aid does one better. He bends down and picks me up, placing me on my feet carefully. "I'm not letting go of you today, you'll fall straight down and Ratchet will dismantle me. Try to find your footing, though."

I do try. In among the biting my teeth together and the grunting and the holding on to First Aid's arm so hard that it _has_ to hurt him.

It doesn't take me long to exhaust myself.

"Enough," I groan, swaying. "First Aid, enough, please, I'll fall –"

He sweeps me up in one smooth motion. "As if I'd ever let you fall," he croons, kissing my ear. "That was so good, Isobel. And we're done for now. Shower?"

I nod, resting my head on his shoulder. "Shower."

I am hoping to be walking soon. I am. But a part of me is going to miss the total care First Aid takes of me now while I'm an invalid. The way he undresses me gently. Carries me into the large shower so I can sit on the stool while he washes my hair. The utter care he takes around my still-healing neck and battered wrists. How he towels me dry afterward – careful, oh so careful, with the softest towels imaginable and the gentlest touch known to mankind.

Or holoform-kind, I suppose.

"Do you want to go out into the hangar tonight?" First Aid asks, kissing my head as he works my hair into a loose braid. Another skill he's picked up lately.

I nod. "Yeah. Spending time with you in here is great, but I don't want them to think I've completely kidnapped you. Besides, I'd like to talk to your brothers. Or whoever else is out there."

First Aid smiles, and my heart stutters. "Let me know if you get overwhelmed."

It's a risk. In the few times I've braved the hangar outside my tiny house in the last week, I've only lasted for a little while before First Aid had to carry me back inside. He says the others don't mind, that they understand, but I feel like a complete jerk when I keep leaving them like that. I don't care if I've got valid reasons, it still doesn't feel right.

I agree, though. "I will."

The air is different out in the hangar. More open, somehow, like I can breathe more freely. I don't know why, but it's something about the distance to the walls around me that lets me feel like I can breathe properly. Some form of visual illusion messing with my brain or something. It's another reason why I want to come out here. My house is nice, but it feels restricting after a while.

"Isobel!" Blades calls from above me, and I wave at the tall mech. "Good to see you, girl!"

I can't believe how far we've come in four months. The Blades who snared at me outside the medbay on Diego Garcia may as well have been a different mech. "You too, rotor butt! How's life?"

"Oh, you know," he grins, "high skies and low turbulence. Hanging out with us for a while?"

I nod – awkwardly, that damn neck brace is still in place – as First Aid puts me down on their human-sized couch. "I hoped to. If that's okay."

"Always welcome," he grins, bending down and petting my head with one giant finger. "Slingshot is coming over, though. We were going to watch a movie with Spot and Groove. You want in?"

I grin back at him. "You know I'm a movie girl. Which one?"

"Die Hard. Slings hasn't seen it."

I giggle at that. I'm surprised it's taken Blades this long to convince his – boyfriend? Lover? They're not at a mate stage yet, First Aid says, and they're apparently too young to consider that anyway – to watch his favorite action flick. "I can stand a rewatch. Aid?"

"Anything with you," he replies, nuzzling into my hair. "Popcorn?"

"Please." I kiss his cheek as he leans down. "Salty."

Blades transforms as First Aid walks away, and the dark-haired holoform appears on the sofa next to me. "So how're you healing up?"

"Agonizingly slowly," I grouse. "I'm stuck in these dumb braces for another week at least. Catherine is Not Amused." I sigh, stretch out my legs across the couch. I can move that much, at least. "I wish I was like you guys. Then Ratchet could just – I don't know, weld me or something."

"These breaks are too fine for welding," First Aid says, coming up behind me. He puts a bowl of popcorn and a soda on the floor in front of me and moves his fingers to my neck brace. I raise an eyebrow at him as he takes it off and lets his fingers trace every one of my breaks. "Maybe some micro-welds here on this side, but mostly he'd use a nanite-rich bonding agent. Same for these over here. And your wrists…" Delicate, long fingers unfasten the braces there too, and I get serious goosebumps as they move on my skin. "These breaks are finer, so the bonding agent alone would do. And then rest for a few days until your self-repair had healed them up."

I look at him, and I can tell that I'm wide-eyed. My heart is racing about a hundred miles a minute. God, if he can do this to me with a simple medical explanation and fairly harmless touch… I can't wait until I'm healed. Seriously. "And my knee?" I ask breathlessly.

I don't give a rat's ass that Blades is sitting right there and is probably laughing at me, the slagger, because First Aid kneels in front of me and pushes my left pant leg up. One of the advantages of losing so much weight; everything fits loosely and gives my lovely Protectobot extra access. "This would require surgery," he says softly, caressing the newly-healed and still tender skin. "We'd replace the broken gears, weld the torn lines. The cracked struts would get the bonding agent. Then you'd need a few days to let the welds and repairs set, and then a week of light duty."

I groan and throw my head back. "Gah. That's just not fair. I so want to be a Cybertronian."

"Well, if it helps any, we want you to be a Cybertronian too," Blades says teasingly. "You'd be so much more resilient. And we could mess more with you."

"Mess _more_ with me?" I raise an eyebrow. "I was pretty sure you were messing quite a lot with me already."

"Yeah," he grins, "but you'd be able to take more. Physically, I mean. You're so damn breakable in this form." One finger pokes my knee gently. "Case in point. I mean, one fall and you're off your leg for months? That's hardly efficient."

"That's organics for you," I sigh, leaning back. "We don't come with spare parts. Even with how far science has come, we only get what we get. Everything else is just a stop-gap measure."

It gets quiet as no one says the obvious thing. None of the 'Bots are keen to talk about my mortality anymore, which I'm kind of glad about, but now it often hangs there like the proverbial elephant in the room, leaving me scrambling for distractions. I do not want to consider dying on them, those thoughts have been in my mind too often lately as it is.

This time, Blades is the one to break the laden silence. "So tell me," he says, smiling. "If you were a Cybertronian, what would your alt mode be?"

"You can choose those?" I stare at him. "I thought you were made with those, or something."

"Well, we were constructed with them," First Aid says, refastening my braces and tilting me forward slightly so he can sneak in and sit behind me. "For most, these days, the type of alt mode is coded into our sparks. That doesn't mean we can't change them a little if we want."

"Like, I'm always going to be a rotary," Blades offers. "I can't and won't change that. But take Streets, for instance. If he wanted to be a different kind of grounder, some modification could be arranged."

"Only some, though," First Aid says, arms snaking around my waist. "He's built for pursuit, that means stamina, acceleration and maneuverability. He could never power a frame like Optimus's, or even Ironhide's, and he couldn't be a speedster like the twins or Red Alert."

"But since this is just a thought scenario," Blades says, and now he's totally grinning, "you, my dear Isobel, get to choose your alt mode. So what'll it be?"

I don't even need to think about it. "I'd be a cycle-former like Arcee and Groove."

"Really?" First Aid nuzzles my ear. "I'd have thought you'd be a flier. Something spaceworthy, but not a shuttle. Since you like spaceships."

I have to giggle at that. "I like looking at them, yeah. But that doesn't mean that I want to _be_ one. No, I'd be a bike. Agile, fast, gorgeous." I turn my head so I can see him. "So I could drive with you."

First Aid's arms tighten around me. I guess he likes that idea.

"I'd love driving with you, love, but you're already gorgeous," he murmurs, and I giggle.

"Well, you're biased, First Aid. But that's okay. I love you too."

Blades is just grinning at us.

A knock on the hangar wall interrupts what would otherwise be a supremely sappy moment, and Blades grins and vanishes. The helicopter transforms back to a robot, pretty much bouncing to his feet as he hollers. "Come on in, it's open!"

Slingshot bursts through the doorway, orange face grinning, and throws himself at his taller lover. The crash of metal against metal is deafening, and I wince through my giggles. It's nice to see them so happy together.

Then Silverbolt ducks through the entrance, smiling apologetically. "I hope you don't mind that I tagged along."

"Course not," Blades replies, leaning away from Slingshot's mouth for a moment. "The more the merrier."

I lean back against First Aid, turning to whisper into his ear. "What are the odds of two radically different species from the opposite ends of the universe both using kissing as a form of intimacy?"

"I don't know," he whispers back, and I can hear the smile. "You should ask Prowl that one."

"Hi people!" another voice chirps as Fireflight drags Bluestreak through the door. I didn't know that relationship had survived, and I'm happy to see that it has. At least so far. Bluestreak deserves whatever happiness he can find. "We want to watch, too!"

I like them, I do. But the sheer amount of mechs present suddenly makes my heart beat faster and my palms clammy. First Aid pulls me closer into his chest, hands moving in soothing circles across my arms and abdomen.

"I'm sorry, love. Let me know if it becomes too much."

I nod and steel myself. "I want to try. I want to be able to do this."

And then Bluestreak notices me, and his face splits in a wide grin. "Isobel!"

Before I get the chance to take a breath, the Autobot's transformed and the blue sparks solidify in front of me. "Hey, it's so good to see you! Do you feel better? I bet you do since you're up and about, though I don't anything about the kind of injuries you have, does it still hurt? I hope it doesn't because that would suck slag, but I guess since you're still in that collar thing that you haven't healed all the way yet, and that's probably why First Aid's taking such good care of you, right? It must be practical to have a mate who's a medic, especially when you get injured so easily, and –"

"Hi, Bluestreak," First Aid says, and he's kind and firm at the same time. "It's good to see you."

Bluestreak, bless him, takes the hint. He smiles again and moves to the other end of the couch. "Is it okay if I sit here with you?"

I nod. I can handle that. "Sure. I'm glad to see you, Blue. And yeah, I'm healing, but it still hurts, and I'm stuck like this for a while yet."

"Her neck, wrists and knee still needs time and work," First Aid elaborates, fingers still stroking the skin on the inside of my elbow. "No running for a while yet."

Fireflight walks over in holoform and slips down between Bluestreak and the couch arm. "Hi, Isobel," he says happily, smiling at me. He leans in against Bluestreak, one arm curling around the other's waist. "She called you 'Blue'."

"Hey, you did!" Bluestreak is beaming. "Awesome!"

I giggle a bit at his enthusiasm. This Autobot is adorable.

"Hey, we're having a party?" Hot Spot walks out from the back of the hangar, surprising me. Who would've thought that a Prime-sized Autobot could hide in the back like that? "Hi, Silverbolt," Hot Spot smiles, his hand meeting Silverbolt's shoulder with a clang. "Nice seeing you. Flight, Blue, Slings. Groove can't make it, I'm afraid, he got caught up in an extra duty shift since Sunstreaker's still in the brig."

"Skydive and Air Raid are pulling extra shifts too," Silverbolt replies. "So I guess we're all of us, unless Streetwise is coming?"

"Extended patrol with LAPD," Blades replies. "Part of an outreach program or something. So it's just us." He flashes me a smile. "And since Isobel's here too, would you guys mind going holoform for this? It's less overwhelming for her."

I smile back at him gratefully. "Thanks."

"Of course," he replies, leaning over to ruffle my hair. "We have to take care of you."

My brothers are very protective.

I love it.

And when the others sit down on the other sofa and on the pillow-covered floor, in holoform as requested, I don't feel crowded anymore. I feel safe.

"Lights out!" Blades crows, and then the hangar's only lit by the big TV screen.

I snuggle into First Aid's embrace and settle down to watch the movie.

But I've seen this movie before. The first shot hasn't even been fired when my attention is drawn elsewhere.

Like to Hot Spot. The Protectobot leader is in the couch perpendicular from the one I'm sitting in, and his attention's clearly split too. He spends half his time looking at the screen, and the other half shooting furtive glances at Silverbolt.

Interesting.

Silverbolt, for his part, seems to be engrossed in the movie. He's on the floor, legs crossed in front of him, and he's looking at the screen. His body's facing Hot Spot, though, and though I can't be sure from here, I think he's making sure to display himself from the best angle possible. I can practically see holoform muscle fibers rippling from here.

Oh yes, something's going on there.

I look up to see Slingshot winking at me. He looks exaggeratedly from Hot Spot to Silverbolt and back, then makes a little kissy face and grins before leaning back against Blades again.

So I'm not the only one who's noticing.

The 'Bots are shacking up left and right these days. I know many of the pairs have come together in the last year, or however long it's been since they arrived on Earth. Maybe there's something in the water here? Or the air?

I can practically see the travel brochure. 'Welcome to Earth! The indigenous population is very aggressive but mostly harmless, and mainly pose a threat to themselves and their own environment. Please settle and enjoy the natural aphrodisiac of Earth's atmosphere! And if you have no mate in mind, the humans are available!'

We'd be a hit, I'm sure.

Blades and Slingshot are fun to watch, too. They're such teenagers. Blades has his arms around the Aerialbot, but they're both enraptured by the screen, flinching and grinning at every bit of gung-ho violence dished out.

Kids.

Fireflight and Bluestreak, too. Bluestreak's keeping up a constant commentary in hushed tones, and Fireflight's grinning and nodding along with whatever he's saying. Fireflight's hands are trying pretty hard to distract him, though, running up and down his leg. I predict they'll leave before the movie's half done.

There are hands moving on my body, too. First Aid's gentle fingers are tracing along my stomach, dipping in underneath my shirt. Teasing the upper edge of my pants, fingertips slipping gently beneath it to caress sensitive skin. Every touch shoots liquid fire straight down to my groin.

My Protectobot is naughty.

I turn my head on his shoulder until I can reach his ear. "You're a scoundrel."

"You're too hard to resist," he whispers back with a wink, fingers tugging slightly at my pants. "Besides, no one's watching."

He's right about that. Silverbolt's switched position and is now leaning slightly towards Hot Spot's couch, with the Protectobot leader's foot rubbing along the other's leg softly, insistently. Fireflight has silenced Bluestreak in the most efficient way possible, swallowing every comment with his mouth. I think half the movie was an optimistic estimate – if they keep this up, they'll be out of here in less than half an hour. And Blades and Slingshot are still watching the screen intently, hands intertwined on Slingshot's stomach, though Blades is mouthing insistently at Slingshot's neck.

It's an honest-to-God makeout den in here. I'm barely suppressing a giggle.

"Love it when you smile like that," First Aid whispers. "Now what else can I do to get that reaction, I wonder…"

But those clever, clever fingers are interrupted by Fireflight standing up, tugging on Bluestreak's hand. Huh, that was even less time than I had expected.

"Excuse us," the Aerialbot whispers breathlessly, grinning. He pulls Bluestreak to his feet, not that the sniper's hard to convince. His hands are all over the other's body as they dash away…

…and enter my house.

I raise both my eyebrows at First Aid. "Am I running a B&B or something?"

He raises an eyebrow at me. "Maybe it was urgent?"

"Urgent enough to usurp _my_ bed?" I grumble. "Slagging kids."

Silverbolt chuckles as he turns to look at me, somehow managing to scoot even closer to Hot Spot as he does. "Well, you do have that big bed."

"Yeah, but it's not for rent, is it? Those two are so lucky your holoforms don't have bodily fluids. If that had been the case, I swear I'd be dismantling both of them bolt by bolt tomorrow, even if I had to crawl to do it." I'm joking, but I'm not too happy about this. It feels as though my sanctuary is being invaded.

Plus it's rude.

"I'd hold on to them for you," Slingshot says with a grin, proving that he had in fact been able to pay attention to more than just John McClane and Hans Gruber and Slingshot's neck. "We were planning on borrowing that house of yours for ourselves."

I just stare at him. Then I collapse back against my mate. "First Aid," I whine. "My house is being stolen by rude and obnoxious Aerialbots."

"Well, if it helps, I was actually just planning to drag Hot Spot to the back of the hangar and throw the rest of you out," Silverbolt says dryly. "I'm not in a holoform mood tonight."

I have to grin at that, even though I'm still uneasy about this whole situation. The sight of Hot Spot sputtering and blushing will be with me to the end of my days. And I bet Blades saved it as blackmail material.

"Well, your brothers are away all night," Blades murmurs, pressing his mouth against Slingshot's bright hair. "Should we hide out in your hangar?"

"Frag, yes," Slingshot replies excitedly. "Now?"

"Now," Blades replies huskily. "Come on, you."

At least these two don't make a spectacle of themselves. They just fade away before transforming and dashing out of the hangar.

"Silverbolt, are you sure?" Hot Spot asks carefully, fingers tugging on the pale hair of the holoform in front of him.

"Well, yes," Silverbolt replies, turning to look at him. "Of course I am. Why, aren't you?"

A loud keen echoes from my little house, interrupting whatever Hot Spot was going to reply, and I wince. I really don't like this.

First Aid sighs. "Do you have a pressing need to see this film finished, Isobel?"

I shake my head. "I've seen it before. Besides, if I'm thrown out of my house anyway, I'd rather not be here."

"Then let's get out of here," my mate says, pushing me forward gently so he can escape the couch. "Let me get your chair, and we'll leave." He stands up, shoots his oldest brother and Silverbolt a firm look. "This is a one-time thing. I'm not letting her get chased from her own bed again. We took her in, she lives here with us now, and she needs to heal. So for tonight, I'll take her elsewhere. But only for tonight. And I will have words with Bluestreak and Fireflight tomorrow."

Silverbolt seems repentant at that, at least. "I'm sorry about this, Isobel. I'll talk to Fireflight myself."

I just nod, looking away. Suddenly, it's much more than I can handle, and another breathless cry from the house behind us isn't helping at all.

First Aid glances at me, then bends down, cradling me as he stands up. "Come on, love." He frowns at the two embarrassed gestalt leaders. "We'll see you around."

* * *

"You guys are nothing but sex-crazed maniacs," I grumble, as First Aid starts the third lap around the base. At least he's let me sit up front, not banned me to the back of the ambulance like some invalid. I couldn't take that tonight. "Immature, one-track-minded pains in my butt."

"I know. I'm sorry, Isobel." First Aid sighs. "I'll tear into them tomorrow. Fireflight and Bluestreak had no right."

I shiver slightly, and his holoform suddenly appears to pull me into his lap. The seat slides back to give us room. "Are you okay, love?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I felt – unsafe, suddenly. Like I didn't have control over my own space. And if I don't have control over it…" I take a deep, shuddering breath. "Then anyone can go in there, and I'm not safe anymore."

First Aid snarls, a roaring and tearing sound from deep in his chest. It's the single most menacing sound I've ever heard any of them make. "I'm going to dismantle them."

I snuggle in against his chest. "They didn't mean anything by it. They just didn't think." He smells good, this close, and I burrow my face in against his neck. "Don't be too hard on them. Maybe you can just give them the puppydog eyes and say they should be ashamed of themselves?"

"Well, they should be." He pulls me close, then chuckles. It sounds forced, and I can tell he's trying to lighten the mood. "That look is very efficient. I'm not up to Optimus standard yet, but I'm working on it. I even tried to convince Ratchet to give it a try, but he prefers his tried and tested gruffness."

I giggle. "Well, if Ratchet did try that he'd probably scare the lot of them into submission from sheer shock."

"I think you're right." He kisses my hair, then pulls away slightly. "Hold on, love, I'm being commed. Yes, Ratchet?"

The medic's voice comes out of First Aid's speakers, and I suppress a giggle. Speak of the devil.

*Now why are you going around and around the base like some form of glitched satellite?*

"Can I reply?" I whisper.

"Yeah," First Aid whispers back. "Have fun."

"Hey, Ratchet," I say out loud. "My home's been taken over by aliens. We're forced to roam the streets tonight lest we witness something we really didn't want to see. Also, my bed's been annexed."

*Isobel? Slaggit, Aid, you better not be aggravating her injuries. And what in pit do you mean, your bed's been annexed?*

"You know me better than that, Ratchet," First Aid replies. "And I will have words with Fireflight and Bluestreak about that situation tomorrow."

*Let me know if you need backup on that," Ratchet growls. "Punk kids, messing with her rest like this. Well, since you're both up, would you mind swinging by Red's? Inferno commed me, wanted someone to come over – apparently, Red's not calming down as he should. I'm kind of in the middle of something at the moment, though, and I can't get away.*

I bet I know what he's in the middle of. It has to be the atmosphere, surely.

"Sure thing, Ratchet," First Aid replies, and I can hear the amusement in his voice too. "Heading there now."

"Hey, Ratchet," I call out. "Say hi to Optimus from me, will you?"

"Punk sparklet," Ratchet says, but I can hear the affection in his voice. "Thanks, both of you."

The connection cuts, and I giggle out loud. "Those two are adorable. Maybe Ratchet's finally caving."

"I think he is," First Aid grins. "He had a tough time while you were gone. I think Optimus was the only thing keeping him from working himself into stasis."

"They're good for each other," I murmur, snuggling against his neck again.

"They are," First Aid agrees. One hand moves gently on my back "So are you okay to visit Inferno and Red Alert?"

I remember the security director from that one meeting around Halloween. It seems I was right about his issues. And that means I can probably handle it – heck, I might even be able to help. "Yeah, sure," I reply. "I've never really talked to them, though. What do you think is wrong?"

"I'm guessing Red's strung himself up over something. Inferno can usually talk him down, but Red's not listening and Inferno can't get through." He looks down at me. "It can get unpredictable. If he's very agitated, you'll have to wait outside, but I doubt Ratchet would have let you come with me if he was that upset."

I nod. "That's okay. We'll see how it goes."

"Yeah," he replies, pressing his mouth to my hair again. "We will."

* * *

"Hey, First Aid," Inferno says, pushing the door almost shut behind him. I can hear the sounds of a mech grumbling and pacing heavily inside. "Ah'm sorry ta call ya here so late. He's in a right tizzy, and Ah can't get'im ta calm down." He looks down at where I'm sitting in First Aid's palm. "Evening, doctor Harrington."

"Hello, Inferno," I reply. I've seen this mech around – he's one of the big ones, but he seems like such a teddy bear, I don't really worry about his size. "Please, call me Isobel. Everyone else does."

"Does he need sedation?" First Aid asked, all medic suddenly. "Since Ratchet isn't here, I'm assuming he's not crashing."

"No, no he's not crashin'. He's loopin', though, so Ah think he might crash if we don' snap him out of it. And he don't tolerate visitors – ya're goin' ta have ta convince him of who ya are and why ya're here. And Ah'm sorry, but Ah don't think…" he looks at me helplessly.

"Don't worry," I say calmly, raising my hands at him. "I'm not coming inside unless you consider it to be helpful. I was simply brought along. I can wait out here."

"Ah can't have ya waitin' in the hallway," Inferno objects. "Not all by yaself, anyway. Ah can.. Ah can wait here with ya?"

"Red needs you inside, Inferno," First Aid replies, placing a hand on the other's arm. "Isobel will be fine. Go on inside and tell him I'm here, I'll come inside in a moment."

As soon as the door closes behind the red firetruck-former, First Aid bends down and puts me in my wheelchair. "I'm sorry, Isobel," he says contritely. "But it's not safe for either of you to bring you inside right now. Will you be okay to wait out here? I hope it won't be long."

I nod, though I'm far from certain. "Go on inside, I'll be fine."

He hesitates, then one giant finger touches my cheek gently. "I promise, I'll come back out as soon as I can."

I smile at him. "Don't worry about me. Now go help Red Alert."

First Aid straightens hesitantly, then walks inside and closes the door.

I distract myself for a few minutes with looking around. This layout is much the same as on Diego Garcia – one hangar, subdivided into apartments of sorts. There are four doors, including the one First Aid just vanished behind. The main difference here is that I have no idea who's behind the other three.

The hangar is big, as one would expect, with the normal extremely high ceiling. I hadn't expected the total quiet, though. I even press my air to the door behind me, but I can't hear a thing.

It's too quiet.

I wish I had my Wheeljack special phone. My imagination – or psychological trauma, one's as valid as the other – is starting to run away with me.

"Nothing bad's happened," I whisper. "It's just really good soundproofing, that's all. And it's late. They're probably in recharge."

Logical arguments. They don't do fuck-all for my nerves, though. Or my heartrate. I only realize how hard I'm clenching my hands into fists when the pain shoots through both my wrists.

I force my hands to relax and take hold of my wheels, rolling back and forth. Moving from one end of the hallway to the other. Practicing turns. Don't really notice that I'm going faster and faster and faster and faster until I lose control of the chair and almost crash into the wall.

My heart's pounding, and I'm hyperventilating.

"I'm safe," I pant, almost hysterical. "I'm safe it's okay it's all right he's just in there no one's coming to take me away I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay I'm okay oh God –"

I'm not okay.

I turn the chair around and head for the nearest door. Don't know who's inside, don't care. Try to control the sobbing and hyperventilating, but it doesn't work, and I'm starting to see dark spots in front of my eyes, and my wrists hurt like hell when I lift my fists and pound on the door in front of me.

"Please open, please, oh God please be someone there, please," I gasp, trying to beat down the door with all the strength I can pull from my damaged body.

And the door opens.

"What is the meaning of – Isobel?" The voice is shocked, very high up, and achingly, soothingly familiar.

"What the frag is all that noise – Isobel! Sweetspark, are ya all right?"

I know that voice too. That voice means safety. It always has.

Jazz bends down and picks me up easily, wheelchair and all, cradling me close to his chest. "Shh, Isobel," he croons. "Ya's all right, no one's hurtin' ya. Come on, we'll take care of those hands."

The black spots fade away as I manage to calm down enough to get control of my breathing. I time it against Jazz's slow footsteps, the rhythm in the soothing melody he hums.

Prowl ducks his head in front of me, bending down so I don't have to crane my neck to look at him. "Isobel, what's wrong? Where's First Aid?"

"With Red Alert," I whisper. "I had to wait outside. It wasn't safe."

"And you panicked," he replies with a flash of understanding. "No wonder. I am very glad you managed to knock on our door. You're safe here." He straightens, places a hand on his mate's arm. "Take care of her. I'll comm First Aid, let him know where she is."

"All right. Come here, sweetspark."

Jazz plucks me out of the wheelchair and places me carefully on a giant sofa. A blanket of sorts is placed over my legs, another wedged behind my back to act as a pillow. It takes my frazzled mind a moment to realize that I'm essentially swathed in what passes as hand towels for Autobots.

Jazz's holoform solidifies in front of me and pulls me into his lap. "Gimme those hands."

I lift up my hands, and only now realize how battered and swollen they are. My knuckles are bleeding. "What happened?"

He chuckles softly. "My guess, ya bust 'em up but good when ya tried t' break through our door. Made quite the ruckus and scared us half t' death."

"I'm sorry," I whisper as he opens up a first aid kit and starts cleaning the bleeding cuts on my knuckles. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"Ya's always welcome, sweetspark," he says softly, then smiles. "Well, not always always. But, ya know, most of the time."

I nod carefully. "Something in the atmosphere," I murmur. My head feels very foggy suddenly.

"Atmosphere?" Jazz asks, rubbing some form of stinging salve on my hands.

"Everyone's doing it," I say tiredly, closing my eyes and resting my head against his shoulder. "'s why I got thrown out of my house. Bluestreak and Fireflight stole it."

"You got thrown out of your house?" Jazz repeats in surprise.

"And the Protectobot hangar," I mumble. "For the night. First Aid's going to yell at them tomorrow."

"As well he should," Prowl says, walking in and sitting down on the couch next to us. "First Aid told me what's going on. You'll be staying here with us tonight, Isobel. Red Alert needs close supervision, so First Aid has to stay there." He leans closer, looking at me. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," I mumble.

"Comin' down from a panic attack'll do that to ya," Jazz says, chuckling softly. "Ya can sleep, sweetspark. I'll be right here."

I burrow in against his shoulder and don't reply. Jazz is warm, and comfortable, and is humming some form of lullaby, and I just can't stay awake any longer.

* * *

When I wake up again, I'm lying flat on my back, and I'm very warm. It doesn't take me too long to understand why.

I'm still on the sofa, but I'm sandwiched between two sleeping figures. Or recharging holoforms, I guess.

Jazz and Prowl have fenced me in like I'm a kid in danger of falling out of bed.

It's more than a little unexpected, waking up between them like this. But it's strangely comforting. Because there's no way anything bad can happen to me when I'm resting between the second and third in command of the Autobots.

I can't tell what time it is. There are no windows in this room, so I can't tell if it's close to dawn or not. There are no clocks, either – the Autobots have internalized those, so there's no point hanging any on the wall.

I guess there's nothing to do but wait. And watch sleeping holoforms.

Jazz is wearing his visor thing, even asleep. His sex appeal is less discernable, thank goodness – I don't think I could lie here unaffected if that wasn't the case. He's still got that exotic beauty, but it's toned down.

Prowl, on the other hand, looks ethereal. Beautiful beyond words, too lovely to be real. And especially too otherworldly to be lying here next to me on the couch, cheek smooshed into the pillowed blankets.

I have to smile a bit at that. He's adorable.

No less so when his eyes open, unfocused and groggy and confused.

"Morning," I whisper.

He blinks, and I can almost see the moment his mind kicks in. "Good morning, Isobel. Are you all right?"

"I'm okay," I reply quietly. "I'm sorry for bursting in and disrupting your evening."

"Don't mention it," he whispers. "You're welcome here any time. I'm glad you came to us when you needed help." He looks down at the rest of me. "How do your hands feel?"

I try to lift my arms, only to realize that I'm swathed head to toe in one of those towel blankets. No wonder I'm warm. Also, they've taken great care to not be wrapped up with me, so there's a barrier of blanket between them and any part of my body. Maybe they figured I'd feel even safer if they weren't touching me directly.

"They sting," I whisper finally. "But I think they're okay. Ratchet's going to kill me if I broke something."

"Ratchet is not going to kill you," Prowl whispers. "If anything, he's going to be very upset with First Aid. He shouldn't have left you alone like that."

"Not Aid's fault," I argue, and my voice gains a bit of volume in my insistency. "I told him I would be okay. That was clearly a bit ambitious," I admit, looking away. "I didn't think the silence would get to me so badly."

"Don't be sorry," Prowl whispers. "We'll talk more about what happened later. You should rest."

"I'm wide awake," I whisper back. "What time is it?"

"Time for you two t' stop mumblin'?" a muffled voice says. I turn my head to face Jazz. "Hello, sweetspark," he grins, looking far more awake than Prowl does. "Welcome back t' the land of the semiconscious."

"Hey, Jazz. I'm sorry about barging in here last night."

"No worries," he says, raising a hand to boop my nose. "Ya needed help, ya asked for it, we gave it. Simple."

I have to smile at that. "Well, I appreciate it. Can you unwrap me now, though? I'd like to see just what I did to my hands when I panicked."

"Sure thing." Jazz sits up, and I notice that he's been lying on the edge of the blanket that covered me. Well-wrapped indeed.

"What's with the blanket burrito? And the holoform sandwich?" I look from Jazz to Prowl questioningly.

"You were having nightmares," Prowl says softly as he sits up, revealing the other edge of the blanket. "Tossed and turned in your sleep. You didn't calm until Jazz laid down beside you, but we were afraid you'd fall of the sofa if you began moving again. So I recharged on the outside." He peels back the blanket carefully. "I hope you don't think that was too forward of us."

"It was nice, actually," I reply. "I'm not ready to sleep alone just yet. I get nightmares whenever I try."

With the blanket off, I finally manage to look at my hands. It's not good.

"I'm doomed."

"It's not that bad," Jazz says comfortingly, taking hold of one bandaged hand. "I went overboard with th' bandagin'. It's new to me." He grins. "I bet First Aid'll replace th' whole thing with a single band-aid or somethin'."

I tilt my free hand over, twitch my fingers experimentally. "Well, at least I can move them." Though the layers and layers of bandages makes it difficult.

"Are you hungry, Isobel?" Prowl says, standing up in full metal glory. "I can have Bluestreak pick something up for you?"

I snort. "Yeah, good luck with getting him out of my house. Fireflight probably tired him out but good."

"Well, I'll have Trailbreaker do it, then," the tall mech continues. "He's on his way here, he'll pick something up for you. You need to eat."

Jazz the holoform fades away, and Jazz the mech stands up. "Ya goin', Prowler?"

"I have a meeting with Prime and the humans in a little while," Prowl replies, and I grin at the utter adorableness of the giant Autobot embracing his smaller mate and nuzzling at his horns. "I'll leave her in your capable hands, love."

Jazz grins and stretches up, pulling Prowl's head down to nuzzle at his chevron. "Go wrangle the humans into somethin' resemblin' cooperation, mech. Love ya."

"And I you," Prowl replies softly. He extricates himself from Jazz's fairly insistent embrace and smiles in my direction. "I'll see you later, Isobel. First Aid is still with Red Alert, but you're welcome to stay here as long as you like."

"Thanks," I reply, waving a bandaged hand at him. "Say hi to Optimus for me."

Prowl chuckles softly. "I will."

As he opens the door to leave, though, another brightly colored mech barges in. "Where is she?"

"Hey, Ratchet," I call, doing the cowardly thing and hiding my hands behind my back. "Nice night last night?"

"Don't get cheeky with me, young lady," he grumbles, transforming and forming his holoform. "Tell me what happened yesterday."

"Had your energon yet, Ratch?" Jazz calls, ambling towards another room.

"I'll fuel later," Ratchet calls back. "I only have a little while before I have to leave again." He turns and eyes me sternly. "Tell me."

"Well, Bluestreak and Fireflight thought it was a good idea to… appropriate my bed, I guess," I reply. "And Silverbolt and Hot Spot wanted some privacy. So we left. And you commed and sent us here. And Red was too far gone for me to come inside, so I waited in the hallway."

Ratchet just raises an eyebrow at me. "And?"

I fold, breathing out heavily and bringing my hands back out in front of me. "And I freaked out. Tried to break through the door to get in here. Spent the night on this couch between Jazz and Prowl. Woke up… oh, half an hour ago, I guess." I shrug. "That's all."

Ratchet seizes my hands, examining the bandaging. "You banged on the door with your fists, did you? I'm going to have words with your mate." Gently, carefully, and strangely at odds with his annoyed tone, he begins unwinding the gauze. "He knows better than to leave you like that."

"I convinced him I would be okay," I object. "Turns out I wasn't."

He hmms. "Well, you haven't done too much damage to yourself. A fair bit of bruising, so it'll hurt for a while, but the cuts are already closing. Jazz!"

A silver helm pokes out from one of the other rooms. "Ratchet!"

I snort a giggle. Ratchet glares balefully at me. "When are you on duty today?"

"Not until later," Jazz replies, sauntering out with a cube in his hand. "I'm happy t' Isobel-watch, if that's what ya mean."

"Good. Mind her until First Aid's free. Red Alert's on forced medical leave today, as is Inferno, to keep him company, and she needs someone with her."

"Um, hello?" I glare pointedly from one to the other. "I'm sitting right here, you know."

"Isobel," Jazz says, turning that dazzling grin on me, and oh my God did my groin just tighten in response to a giant alien robot!? Who isn't _my_ giant alien robot?

My mouth is dry, my heartrate's speeding up… I totally reacted.

Damn his sex-appeal, it transverses physical appearance. If we could bottle that, we'd never have an enemy again.

…though we might have to beat the amorous bastards off us with a stick instead. Especially if we added a touch of essence de Sunstreaker.

"Would ya like to help me break in my new entertainment system?" Jazz continues, thankfully oblivious to my internal monologue. He whips out a remote and presses a button.

The wall at the end of the room slides away to reveal a TV screen bigger than I am.

"Oh hell yes," I breathe.

* * *

Jazz kicks my butt in Mario Kart. And Fallout. And Call of Duty.

At least I beat him at Super Mario. Though I think that's because his reflexes are too fast for the game.

Somewhere after my third on-screen death Trailbreaker walks in with food for me, and I get to watch the pair of them beat the digital crap out of each other while I eat. And when First Aid walks in after a few hours, I'm losing spectacularly to both of them and laughing my head off all the while.

It's worth it to see the worried expression melt off his face, and have him sit down on the floor in front of me and rest his head on my leg with a completely doting look in his eyes.

My character goes down in a rain of fire and I couldn't care less.

"Well, this was fun," Jazz drawls, killing off Trailbreaker quickly and efficiently. "But I've got somewhere t' be in a bit. Isobel, wanna do this again some time?"

"Why, to boost your ego?" I grin. "Sure thing. I'm mostly free, so just let me know."

Trailbreaker just smiles. "I've got a shift coming up, so I have to leave as well. I had fun."

"Bye, 'Breaker," Jazz calls as the holoform vanishes and the black mech leaves.

First Aid catches my hand and presses a kiss to the inside of my wrist. "Forgive me? I shouldn't have left you like that."

"Of course," I reply breathlessly, because there's just no way I can resist that look. "There's nothing really to forgive, First Aid."

What a thing to say. Apparently, I've got a first class ticket to Sappyville, no stops.

"Come on," he says softly, standing and easily picking me up with that awesome hot holoform strength. "Let's get out of here."

"Oh, yeah." I wrinkle my nose. "I have to wash the sheets."

"Already taken care of," he grins, and now he looks decidedly wicked. "I commed Silverbolt, had him enforce some ground rules. I think you'll find your house as clean as it's ever been, love, even when it was brand new. Bluestreak was very contrite, and Fireflight…" he smirks. "Fireflight promised on his knees never to do anything like that again."

"Sounds good," I agree, resting my head against his neck. "Take me home?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, cradling me closer. "Let's go home."


	32. Absence

_Dear diary,_

_I'm walking again! Yeah, granted, there is a cane involved, and yeah, I'm not exactly fast or elegant, but I'm mobile! Which means no more wheelchair, no more being carried around like a child, and no more waiting for someone else to move me around._

_Plus, mega bonus, I get to go to the bathroom by myself! And take showers unaccompanied!_

_I will never underestimate the luxury that is a private shower again._

_I'm still wearing my stupid neck brace, and my knee's encapsulated in some form of stabilizing neoprene monstrosity, but I'll take that. Besides, Catherine says she's taking the neck brace of in a couple of days._

_I'm getting my life back._

_And just in time, too. Because the Protectobots are being dispatched to Chile along with Grapple and Hoist to assist in an earthquake clean-up. And they're leaving later today._

_I mean, it's a good thing. It is. They're going down to look for survivors – apparently, it was a big one – and to help clear the affected areas. Their skill sets and alt modes mean that they're uniquely suited for this. Really, Chile's lucky._

_It means I'll be left alone, though._

_I'm not comfortable being alone yet, not for longer periods of time anyway. So I'll be moving around a bit, making a nuisance of myself to the other Autobots that'll have me. First Aid and his brothers will be away for at least two weeks, and nobody could be responsible for me for that amount of time, so I've been divvied up. Sort of like right after they brought me back, actually, when they had Isobel shifts._

_For the next couple of nights, I'm staying with Jazz and Prowl. Then it's one with Wheeljack – and I'm both dreading and looking forward to that one – followed by two nights with Skyfire. One night with Ratchet, one with Ironhide and Chromia, then one night with Optimus. That was surprising, to say the least, but I think it'll be very nice. Then two nights with Blaster, one night with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, two with Arcee, one with Trailbreaker – and for all those, I'm back in my house, since they're in shared barracks. The Protectobots have gracefully offered their berths, so my sitters have somewhere to sleep. And if my family's not back by then, Prowl will divvy me up again among the mechs who're not on night duty._

_I feel like a parcel, being passed around. It wouldn't be so bad if I could just stay with the same 'Bots for more than a few days, but I can see that that's not possible. It's no point staying with someone who's not there because they're on shift, then I might as well stay at home by myself._

_Bumblebee's still watching Parker every night. Allowances have been made for him, just like the Protectobots are let off easier because of me. But Prowl can't really juggle everyone's roster for me, though. I get that. And Parker's not comfortable with having me staying there, either. She apologized for that, but I understand. I wouldn't want to be responsible for me if I was her either._

_In addition to that, I have to visit another clinic for my physical therapy. So either Sunstreaker, Arcee or Hound will take me there, since I still have three appointments a week, and they'll be my rides whenever I want to go somewhere that's too far for me to walk yet. Not that there's much – aside from the physical therapy, there's only my weekly medical check-up with Catherine._

_But that's really all I'm doing with my time these days._

_It's getting… not boring, because I'm not sure that that's it. But tedious. Wearisome._

_So later today, after I've said goodbye to First Aid and his brothers, I'm meeting up with Parker and Alice and we're finally going to have our girl's night. We've had to postpone it three times already, so I'm glad we're finally getting around to it. It'll be good to catch up, see how they're doing._

_But first things first. I have to send my Protectobot off to help people._

* * *

The send-off isn't a grand affair, but there are still more people here than I expected. The Protectobots are all waiting outside one of the massive cargo planes that can fit a standing Optimus Prime, and the farewell committee is grouped loosely around them.

Arcee carries me all the way to the plane, only putting me down when we're practically on top of First Aid's alt mode.

Or, there's no 'practically' about it. She puts me down on his roof. When I raise an eyebrow at her, she only smirks at me.

When First Aid appears next to me, though, I don't really mind anymore.

"Hey you." I lean in, my forehead resting against his shoulder.

"Hey yourself." He sighs, nuzzles my neck. "Primus, I already miss you. You'll keep your comm with you?"

"I will." Wheeljack finished the second version of my comm phone yesterday, replacing the one I'm fairly sure is resting at the bottom of the Pacific. It'll be my direct line to my Protectobot, and I'm sure I'm going to need it. "Go save some lives."

"I hope to. At the very least, I can help out at their hospitals while the others are hauling concrete and steel beams." He smiles, and I melt.

"I'm going to miss you like crazy," I whisper, throwing my arms around his neck. "Come back to me after you're done helping people."

"I'll always come back to you," he promises, and then he kisses me.

I wonder if I'll ever be unaffected by First Aid's kisses. I certainly get just as weak in the knees know as I did the first time he kissed me like this. Even with us up on his roof like this, in full view of everyone, I just want to collapse against him.

When I finally manage to extricate myself and lean back, I notice that we're not the only ones causing a scene. Which is nice. Also, I bet if regular people could see us now, maybe they wouldn't be so scared of Cybertronians.

Or maybe they'd just freak out. Who knows.

I just know that the way Hot Spot and Silverbolt are staring at each other is among the most intimate looks I've ever had the privilege to witness. That Slingshot is holding Blades so closely and tightly to himself that I almost doubt he'll ever let him go. And Streetwise's holoform is cradling Alice's face, thumbs running gently across her cheeks.

Dangerous, senseless alien robots. Yeah right. Big-ass cuddlebots is more like it.

At least the Autobots are. The Decepticons may be different. Or not – I mean, Laserbeak is a total cuddler.

Groove, though, is standing by himself. He doesn't seem to mind much – he's smiling indulgently at the others, and I swear I've seen that same look on the face of Optimus when he watches his Autobots.

It's a family look.

"Hey, Groove," I call, grinning as he simply transforms and appears right in front of me.

"Hi, Isobel. Ready for your vacation from us?"

"Oh yeah," I say enthusiastically, patting First Aid's shoulder for good measure. "I'm going to turn this base on its head, just you wait and see."

"Good," he replies, smiling that easy smile of his. "They could do with the wakeup call."

I straighten away from First Aid then, and give his brother a hug. "Bring me back something nice, won't you? My brother always used to do that when he was deployed somewhere."

"You got it," Groove says softly, hugging me back. "Take care of yourself, Belle."

"Don't call me that," I say sternly, but Groove just grins as he fades away.

"Your brother is a scoundrel," I murmur, resting my forehead against First Aid's.

"The biggest scoundrel pacifist that ever lived," First Aid agrees. Then he sighs, looking towards the enormous plane. "We're being called to board, love. I have to go." He kisses me again. "I love you, Isobel. Stay safe."

"Never leaving their sights," I confirm, shooting Arcee a quick glance before I lean in to kiss him again. "Love you, too. And you stay safe, too, Aid. You stay safe, you keep them safe, and you come back."

He chuckles softly. "I remember, love."

He jumps to the ground, turns and lifts his arms towards me. I don't have any qualms about sliding off the car roof and letting him catch me.

One more kiss, and then I'm surrounded by blue sparks and can't hold on to him anymore. I limp over to stand next to Alice as the Protectobots line up to drive into the cargo plane. Neither of us say a word, we just watch as the cargo hatch closes and the plane takes off. As it disappears into the sky, though – and damn if that cliché about him taking a part of my heart with him when he leaves doesn't seem to be true – Alice turns to me and forces a smile.

"So! You ready for an afternoon of gossip and silliness?" Her tone is bright, probably brighter than she feels, but I can relate to that.

"Beyond ready," I reply. "I've got all the goods set up already. Want to come back with me right now, or are we getting some food first?"

"Let's get some food to bring," she decides. "That way we don't have to leave until evening. Are you still sure it's okay for Jazz and Prowl that we're there?"

I nod. "Jazz told me four times that it was cool, and Prowl said they were happy to have us. Anyway, they both have duty tonight, and it saves me having to come back and waking them up. Or going back to empty quarters. So yeah, it's all good."

"Well, want to hit the cantina first? Or should we be really sinful and get takeaway to share with Parker?"

"Pizza, then," I decide. The thought of food in little paper/plastic containers makes me abruptly queasy.

Swindle never brought me pizza, though. Probably because pizza boxes are less subspace friendly.

"Pizza," she agrees. "And though it sucks, Arcee's not really a pizza-getting 'Bot."

"That I am not," my tall pink friend says with great certainty. "I've gotten you a replacement, though. He's guaranteed to get the pizza home while it's still warm."

I don't have to ask who it is. Because Blurr's already there. "HiAlicehiIsobeldidyouwanttogoforadrive?"

Alice grins wildly, and I can't help but do the same. "Yeah, Blurr. We want to go for a drive."

* * *

Turns out, Jazz's entertainment system works just as well for music as it did for video games. I should have expected nothing else. And then we dig into their hidden stash of romcoms and brainless fluff, and what do you know, it works for that too.

"So Jazz is the proud owner of _She's all that_ , _Hot Chick_ , _27 dresses_ and a bootlegged copy of the entire _Men in Trees_?" Alice asks, holding up the latter and giggling. "Or do you think the shelf with _Avatar_ , _The Princess Bride_ , _Serenity_ and _The 10th Kingdom_ is Jazz's stuff?"

"Both, obviously," Parker replies, smiling slightly. "Though I bet that that end is Prowl's." She points at a row of everything from Jane Austen to Tom Hanks to Eddie Redmayne and winks. "It's alphabetized."

I almost choke on my pizza.

This was just what I needed. This easy-going, completely unserious, silly evening without alien robots or holoforms or even the hint that this isn't normal. Instead, we're laughing at the utter nonsense that is Jazz's DVD shelves, we're gossiping like teenagers about who's looking at who and who looks good with long hair and whether Thor's hotter than Loki. It's brilliant.

And when _The Holiday_ credits begin – because everyone should watch that film at least once, Christmas or not – Alice twists sideways from where she's lying on the front on the giant couch to look at Parker.

"So, I've been wondering… How are you doing? Is Bumblebee helping?"

"I'm better," Parker admits, leaning back into the couch back and almost slipping away between the giant cushions. "Bee's a big help. He just takes whatever I dish out, whether it's tears or violence or hysteric giggling or just really unnerving silence. I'm lucky that he's my friend."

"Just a friend?" Alice probes. "You're not together."

Parker smiles, that same little smile she usually wears whenever she has cause for smiling. "No, we're not. I'm not ready to fall for anybody, and when I finally get that far, I don't want to fall for an alien." She looks from Alice to me and back, frowning slightly. "No offense, you know. I just…"

"None taken," I reply. "And you're right not to. Because as good as First Aid is, as much as I love him, I know it's going to be really tricky down the road."

"You two are so right for each other, it's a damned shame you're different species," Alice sighs, turning to lie on her back. Then she giggles. "We should have had an Eywa, too. Like in Avatar? Then you could be turned into a Cybertronian."

I snort a giggle. "My life is sci-fi enough already. It's one good reason why one shouldn't date aliens."

"That's what I mean," Parker agrees. "I don't need that extra complication. It's mutual, too - Bumblebee's not interested in humans like that. He's perfectly happy as my friend." She grins slyly. "In fact, he says he's getting his gears stripped by Blaster _and_ Arcee both. Together."

"So that's what they meant!" I realize, remembering a conversation with Jazz way back before everything went to pieces. Alice is just giggling wildly.

"Oh my God, gears stripped," she gasps when she gains some coherency again. "That tells me both more and less than I want to know at the same time."

Parker giggles. "I haven't asked. I don't need to know."

"I bet it's in my files somewhere," I muse. I can't quite stop smiling, though. "Probably under a sterile heading like _Interfacing in Cybertronian culture_ or something."

"Fragging 101," Alice supplies, and Parker caves over laughing.

"Fragging?" I ask, giggling. "I hadn't heard that one."

Parker laughs so hard she's snorting. "Yeah, it's the colloquial. Bee uses it all the time. Frag that, frag this, what the frag."

"So it's like fuck," I grin. "For aliens." Then the surrealism of the situation hits me. "God, what a topic. Not that my life could get that much weirder."

"Remember what normalcy felt like?" Alice says wistfully, stretching to lie full-length with her feet against the couch back. I don't think this girl is capable of staying still for more than a few seconds at the time.

"I don't think anything's been normal since I was a kid," Parker replies dryly. "It's a new normal now."

"Ain't that the truth," I agree, shifting my knee and wincing slightly. "Normal is a state of flux. All I can do is hold on to my rock and hope for the best."

"How are you doing, Isobel?" Alice says, her eyes soft and worried as she looks at me. "Really?"

"Really?" I lean back on my hands, relishing the fact that my wrists can take the weight. "I feel like I've got my footing back, a bit anyway. I've got a ways to go yet, but I'm getting there. Physically, I'm on track. Mentally…"

"It's going to take a while," Parker finishes for me. "Sounds familiar."

"Yeah. You know what the main problem is now, though?" I smile slightly. "I'm bored out of my skull. There's only so much reading and TV watching and such you can do before your brain starts leaking out through your ears. It's better now that I'm on my feet again, but I'm pretty much bouncing off the walls."

Alice nods from her prone position. "Sure. You're used to working full-time and doing lots of things in your spare time. Being stuck like you have has to be annoying. But, hey, can't you go back to work?"

"If I had another job, maybe," I shrug. "But I'm not fit to treat soldiers with PTSD when anything they say can trigger my own. Besides, it's not like I had a lot of clients even before this happened. My office was empty more often than not."

"That's partly my fault," Parker says softly. "I sabotaged you a lot. I've never apologized for that, Isobel. Can you forgive me?"

I shift over until I can reach her hand. "Sure. I think I've ranted more about you than about any other person I've ever met, and I think I wanted to stab you with a fork at some point –"

Alice snorts a giggle. "At least it wasn't a spoon."

"- but I see where you're coming from now," I continue, ignoring the redhead. "When you're in that much pain, lashing out is sometimes the only thing that works. And it's irrelevant now, anyway. I have some work to do before I'm ready to practice psychology again. I'm on an extended medical leave for probably the rest of the year at least." I lean back against the cushions again. "To be honest, I had contemplated branching out in a different direction. Relationship counseling."

"Really?" Alice says, scooting over so she can look down at my face. "That's a bit of a leap."

"Not that far," Parker shakes her head. "You'd be surprised how often those two things intersect."

"Exactly," I agree. "The 'Bots gave me the idea, actually. How seeing trauma for so long makes it difficult to trust in another's care, to have faith that the other one won't just die in the morning anyway. It makes it hard to maintain a relationship."

"It manifests in different ways," Parker adds. "From just throwing yourself headlong into the first semi-good thing that comes along, to dabbling in everything and never taking anyone seriously, to not trusting deep and absolute devotion."

The descriptions are probably more accurate than Parker knows. I can put designations to each one of them.

"That's depressing," Alice sighs. "I'm glad you're finding avenues that allow you to work, Isobel, but let's watch another movie instead of talking about sad stuff, yeah?"

I nod as Parker gets up to take _Love Actually_ out and slide in the first disc of _Poldark_.

"No aliens in this one," she says, with a slight smile. "Maybe we can forget them for a while."

"Not that easy in this couch," Alice grouses as she slides down between the cushions for the umpteenth time. "But I'm all for anything Aidan Turner. Bring it on."

"Seconded," I agree. "Bring on the eye candy. And then we'll ask Prowl tomorrow which scene he likes best."

Parker chuckles. "Oh, I'm going to let you handle that one."

* * *

_Staying with Wheeljack was surprisingly uneventful. We spent some time browsing and giggling at the contact list in my comm phone, because Wheeljack's really gone to town on this one. There's 'Silvia', 'Presley' (and he had to explain the Hound Dog connection before I got that one), 'Morgan' (another one that was a bit of a stretch – and it would have worked just as well for Hound as it does for Mirage), 'Cliff' and 'Smokey', to name a few. And he's put in Alice and Catherine this time, which is good. Aside from that, I was mainly reading a book while he was tinkering with something at his desk. I'd be worried about this if I hadn't seen for myself that he had nothing on there but mechanical parts. I may not have aced chemistry, but I'm pretty certain that nuts and bolts and screwdrivers can't go boom. At least not by themselves._

_Staying with Skyfire was amazing, though. Two nights of storytelling, pictures and videos from space and other planets, history lessons late into the evenings. I've learned more about Starscream than I had thought in advance, because it seems he's enjoying talking to someone who doesn't know Starscream the Decepticon. Most everyone else has a different perspective, since they knew the Decepticon first and don't really know the scientist at all._

_Skyfire even showed me pictures and videos with Starscream in them. And now I know what First Aid was talking about back when we first watched those pictures in my movie theater. Because the Starscream in those pictures, the student and scientist that was hanging on Skyfire's arm or entranced by a datapad or talking excitedly about something, he was breathtakingly beautiful. And happy._

_I hope 'Fire hasn't seen the picture of Starscream that I've seen. Because the contrast is devastating._

_God, I wish I could help. Something has gone seriously wrong in Starscream's mind._

_But he's the second in command of the Decepticons. That's not going to happen any time soon. If at all._

_Anyway, tomorrow I'm going to Ratchet's for an evening of snark and clever comments. I think it'll be a lot of fun. And I plan to do a lot of prying into his feeling for a certain tall, red-and-blue and handsome._

* * *

Ratchet meets me with his customary scan, and I respond with my customary list of symptoms. It's routine for both of us by now.

"You seem to be fine," he concludes, lowering his hand to let me climb onto it. "How are you sleeping?"

"I'm fine as long as someone's there with me," I shrug. "The nightmares are fewer now too, less graphic. It's better."

"That's good," he nods, cradling me against his chest as he stands up and head towards his quarters. "How is being a parcel working out for you?"

I giggle at the repeat of my words from when this whole system was set in place. "It's good so far. Jazz and Prowl were awesome and Skyfire's a total sweetheart. I've gotten a lot of history lessons from all of them." I twist in his palm so I can look up at him. "So now I admit I'm curious what stories you could tell me."

He snorts. "Don't get your hopes up, sparklet. I'm planning to pick your brain tonight. I have some cases I'd like your opinion on."

"One for one," I say, testing my luck. Ratchet's not big on talking about himself, and he values patient confidentiality higher than anyone I've ever met, but I just know there's so much he could tell me. "You get a question, I get a question."

"One for two," he counters. "I get two questions, you get one. And one case counts as a question."

It's probably the best I'm going to get. "Deal. But you buy me dinner."

He nods as he palms the door open. "That's fair. Besides, it's already taken care of."

I twist in his hand again, look down at the counter he's heading towards. There's a set of small takeaway boxes waiting for me.

It's enough to make me feel slightly ill. "Ratchet…"

"I know, sparklet." His voice is soft. "But we have to work on this too. You can't dodge disposable food containers for the rest of your life."

I should have known he'd turn even this into a therapy session. Ratchet can't stop healing people.

At least he's doing it right. It's a perfect blend of insistent and supportive. I know if I can't handle this, he'll fix something else for me.

Plus, if I completely choke on it, he knows CPR.

He puts me down on the counter top before folding down into his ambulance alt mode. The shape of him is so similar to First Aid's that it stings a bit. I haven't talked to my Protectobot in days, though I keep getting adoring text messages.

I can't wait to have him back.

Ratchet's holoform materializes next to me. He's tall and leonine, piercing blue eyes appraising me, curly dark hair swept back.

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You changed your hair."

He looks away and actually blushes slightly. "Optimus thought it suited me better."

I raise my hand to tug slightly at one of the long locks. They're not quite shoulder length, but certainly longer than Optimus' carefully cut look. "It does. Makes you look younger and more relaxed."

"You saying I look old, pipsqueak?" He raises an eyebrow right back at me.

"No, I'm saying that you'd prefer to be perceived as old because it gives you something to hide behind, and Optimus calls your bluff."

He blusters and snorts, but I know I've hit my mark. And it's not a bad look for him, not at all. He could go even younger and possibly blonde, but this is good.

"Well, we're not here to talk about me, are we?" he says brusquely, and I take the hint. "Sit down and eat, sparklet."

I sit down cross-legged next to the containers and take a deep breath. The smell of Chinese food is almost overwhelming.

And I can't do it. The situations are just too similar. The sitting on the floor and eating, the plastic cutlery, the smell, the boxes, and now I'm feeling sick and there's a pounding in my head and I'm seeing spots, I can't do this, I just can't.

And then Ratchet puts a fine porcelain dinner plate in front of me and hands me a set of cutlery that seems to be silverware. A tall champagne glass is placed next to the plate and filled with sparkling water.

It's enough to snap me back out of it. Especially when he sits down next to me and presents the first container to me, complete with silver serving cutlery.

The whole situation is so surreal that I can't stop the giggle.

"There's my sparklet," he says softly, a gentle smile curving his mouth. "I knew we could find a way to get past this."

I serve myself some chicken, arranging it on the plate until I'm satisfied. "You're quite clever. Where did you get the plate?"

"Doctor Hancock lent it to me, along with the silverware and the glass. She says she's quite attached to it and wants it all back in one piece."

I snort. "And she says she's not high society."

The food is surprisingly tasty. And I actually manage to forget the boxes in front of me.

"So, shoot," Ratchet says, just as I have my mouth full of noodles. So I just raise my eyebrows at him, see if that gets him to explain what he's talking about.

"Your questions," he clarifies. "We're going to do the opposite of what happened before. You get to ask me as many questions you want, but only while you're eating."

I swallow. "You're changing the deal?"

"Do you mind?"

Yeah right. This is a much better deal. I can eat slowly.

"Then shoot," he continues, passing me another box. "I know you've been wanting to interrogate me for a while. You know the kind of questions I can't answer, and there are some questions I won't answer, but anything else is fair."

"Okay," I nod. "First question. Why do you call me sparklet?"

He gapes. Then he grins. "You are full of surprises. Here I was expecting you to ask me something difficult." He lifts his hand and boops my nose with one finger. "I call you that because you're like a sparkling to me. You want so much, but you give so much as well, and you learn fast. And I like you. I'm as fond of you as I am of any of the Autobots, more than most even. I also feel responsible for you to some degree. Hence, sparklet."

I giggle. "So I'm to take it as a compliment."

"Of course." Ratchet surprises me then, lifting a hand to gently cup my cheek. "You're like a daughter to me, Isobel. I know you don't know that, because I haven't made it clear. But you've been growing on me, and now it seems it's permanent." A thumb rubs away the solitary tear I didn't quite manage to stop. "Enough of that," he says, and his tone is gruff enough that I can tell he's touched, too. "And that better be a happy tear, by the way." He pulls away, conceals his emotions by shoveling more food on my plate.

Ratchet is amazing.

And I'm about to take total advantage of his emotional state.

"I appreciate it," I say softly. "For the record, yes, happy tears. It's good to have you, Ratchet."

He just grunts without looking at me. "Sure it is. Everyone would be dead twice over if it weren't for me. Now, I believe you had more questions?"

"Sure," I nod. But you're not going to like them, my friend. "Why haven't you bonded with Optimus yet? That mech is yours, that's obvious."

He stares at me again, all defensive, then caves and chuckles softly. "I've created a monster." Shaking his head, he melts away and transforms. "Fine. But that is not a story for my counter top."

He carries me over to the big sofa and puts me down on top of the back cushion. I sink slightly into it as I sit down.

Ratchet leans back and sighs. "So you know Optimus was bonded once."

I nod. "Elita One. She was beautiful."

"Yes, she was. And fierce, and strong, and wise. She and Optimus were perfect together. They complemented each other wonderfully." His optics dim. "Elita was all tempered steel and gentle manners, and Optimus loved her with everything he had. When he lost her… Suffice it to say, I thought we were going to lose him as well. To this day, I'm not sure what made him pull through. He hid in their chambers for three days, I just barely managed to make him come out for the internment ceremony. He was a shadow of his old self when he finally appeared." He pauses, raises an energon cube I didn't notice to his mouth. "I kept expecting him to just not appear one day, that he would have given up and followed her. I suspect the Matrix in his chest and the responsibilities it gave him were part of what pulled him through. It took him vorns – several of your centuries – before he was back to normal. He still misses her terribly."

Ratchet's optics brighten again, and bore into mine. "Now tell me what right I have to possibly put him through something like that again."

"Oh, Ratchet," I breathe. "I'm seriously branching out into couples' therapy."

That earns me a grim chuckle.

"Seriously, though," I continue. "You don't get to decide that for him. He's finally found someone he can love as he loved her, and you want to deny him that? Ratchet, do you or do you not love him back?"

Ratchet looks away. "I love him more than I know how to express," he admits softly. "I loved him as a friend first, then as a leader, and now as a partner. But you're wrong, Isobel. He could never love me as he loved her. He told me so himself."

That has me staring. Because it doesn't make sense. There's no way the Optimus Prime I know would ever tell Ratchet – the mech he loves, the mech he wants to devote his existence to – such a thing. "When did he say this?" I ask cautiously.

"That's unimportant," Ratchet snaps back. "What matters is that he said it."

I hold up my comm phone. "Ratchet, do I have to call him?"

"He's on a much deserved break, and if you disturb that I will easily disown you," he threatens, but I can tell there's a lot of bark and not much bite in the threat.

"Then start telling me the truth," I bite back, "and I won't have to. When did he say this? Was it before or after you began dating? Was he even talking about you specifically?"

He looks away again, and I know I hit my mark. "He wasn't, was he?"

"He might not have been," Ratchet says grudgingly. "But for a while, it was all he said."

"He was grieving," I argue. "People say that kind of thing when they're hurting. I'm sure he wouldn't say the same now."

"It's not just what he said," Ratchet counters, somehow pulling in on himself. "Breaking bonds like that leaves scars on a spark. I don't think he's physically capable of loving someone like that again. His spark just can't do it."

"Ratchet," I say softly, "do you know this for sure? Have you scanned his spark for that kind of damage?"

He sighs then, deflates. "No, I haven't. It's hard to get a read on Optimus' spark without doing a specialized spark scan, and there's been no cause for that. The Matrix gets in the way in the regular scans."

"So you don't really know," I conclude, taking care to keep my tone gentle. "Isn't he worth taking the chance? Even if he can't love you as much as he loved her, don't you think he could love you enough?"

And Ratchet almost curls into a ball, arms around his legs, hiding the lower part of his face in the crook of his elbow until all I can see of him is his optics and chevron. It's one of the most telling positions I've ever seen him in.

"Wheeljack wanted to bond, too," his voice says, slightly muffled by the rest of him. "Right before we broke it off. Then he said that loving me just wasn't enough, and it never would be."

That… makes a twisted kind of sense out of everything. I scoot over until I can reach him, silently cursing the fact that we're not the same species. I'd have given pretty much anything to be a Cybertronian right about now.

Still, he seems to take some comfort from my hands on his arm.

"Optimus isn't Wheeljack," I say softly. "I've talked with him, Ratchet. He says he'll wait for you until you're ready, even if that's never. This is not the same as that."

"It won't be enough," he mutters, optics dimming again. "There's no reason it should be. Pit, I couldn't even hold on to Wheeljack. I'm never going to be able to hold on to Optimus."

I pick up my phone again, type up a real quick message to 'Opie'. He's the only one who can solve this.

"You don't give yourself enough credit," I murmur. "The way he spoke about you… He's been yours for a long time already, and you didn't even know it. He loves you, Ratchet. And you're never going to find out exactly how much if you don't take a chance on this."

Ratchet lifts his head, looks at me. "I can't do it again, Isobel," he says tiredly. "I can't handle that loss again. Losing Wheeljack was bad enough. We were never good for each other, and we both knew it. Optimus…" He sighs, and it's a broken, defeated sound. "I can't lose him as well. I don't know what I'd do."

"If you don't do anything, you will eventually lose him, Ratchet," I point out. "No one waits for ever. Not even Optimus, patient as a saint though he is."

As if on cue, there's a knock on the door. I raise an eyebrow at the upset medic in front of me. "Well? Aren't you going to answer that?"

He sends a remote command to open the door, and I'm jealous again of these guys. Massive, multi-millennial war aside, of course.

When Optimus walks in, Ratchet shoots me an accusing look. "I thought I told you to leave him alone."

I shrug. "He was needed."

"Ratchet," Optimus says softly, sitting down next to the medic and pulling the ball of tight plating into his lap. "What's wrong, dearspark?"

Huh. Another one I haven't heard before.

I don't give Ratchet the chance to deny anything. "Ratchet is laboring under the misconception that your spark is damaged from losing Elita, and you can never love him enough not to leave him. He's also scared to death of losing you."

Ratchet is staring daggers at me. I just stare right back.

"Oh, love," Optimus says gently. And then his chest splits right down the middle, a bright light burning into my eyes. "Scan my spark, dearest. See for yourself."

I gasp as the realization hits me. I'm staring at the spark of Optimus Prime, the soul and core of what the Autobot leader is. It's bright as the sun, twice as radiant, and more beautiful than anything else I've ever seen.

Ratchet raises a trembling hand as he scans the spark on display for him. After a moment, he pulls back and stares up at Optimus in wonder. "It's whole."

"It is," Optimus agrees. "For the longest time, there were gaps and ragged, leaking edges. Every day there would be sudden pain or sharp twinges. But it passed." Blue hands cradle grey face plates. "You healed me, Ratchet. You made me whole again." Gently, ever so sweetly, Optimus leans in to press a kiss to Ratchet's mouth. "I love you, dearspark. I wish you'd let me show you."

Ratchet whimpers and pulls Optimus close. And I slide carefully into the sofa proper and make my way over to the edge of it. For a moment, I hesitate – but one look back is enough to convince me that this isn't where I should be tonight. So I sit down to let myself slip over the edge, holding on with my arms until I drop the last five feet or so to the ground. Even dropping upon impact and rolling, the pain in my leg is intense. I have to bite my teeth together to keep the cry in.

Ratchet's otherwise engaged, though. He doesn't seem to have noticed.

I limp my way into the hallway, grateful for the motion sensors that open the door for me. Once out in the hallway, I dig out my comm phone again and look up 'Skye'.

*Hey, 'Fire? Do you think you can deal with my company for one more night? Ratchet and Optimus need some time to talk.*

* * *

_Skyfire, sweetheart that he is, had no problem hosting me for an extra night. I texted Ratchet in the middle of the night, letting him know where I was. His reply was short, identical to last time. 'Noted, sparklet. Thanks.'_

_Optimus' message was longer, though. 'I appreciate what you just did for us, dear Isobel. I think you spared us a lot of misunderstanding down the road. Anything I can do for you, let me know.'_

_I'm going to take that as a sign that they've worked things out._

_My schedule got all rearranged again. I have my night with the twins tonight, and then two nights with Blaster, and after that I've given up on keeping track of them. I guess Prowl will tell me where I'm supposed to go at any given time. He's already apologized five times for making my life unpredictable, and I've told him five times that it isn't his fault that Insecticons (and I wish that was a made-up word) are attacking Portland or that the President needs to talk to Optimus at all times of the day or that experimental technology seems to draw Decepticons like ants to a sugar cube. Bottom line is, they're not here to take care of me. Worst comes to worst, I'll stay with Catherine._

_But first, the twins._

* * *

I'm engulfed in a twin holoform sandwich before I've even walked all the way through the door. It's nice – comfortable, safe, and warm, and I could stay like that forever if it wasn't for my leg aching like mad.

"Sit, please?" I gasp, holding on to whichever twin is in front of me to avoid dropping to the floor.

I'm picked up and carried over to a human-sized couch, set up in front of a human-sized television with a human-sized gaming system attached. As Sideswipe puts me down, Sunstreaker probes my leg gently. The knee brace is restrictive now, my leg swollen around it. "Isobel, what did you do to yourself this time?"

"Jumped off a couch," I say, grunting a bit as he prods the tender flesh of my knee. "A Cybertronian-sized one."

"Has Ratchet seen to this?" Sideswipe asks, stroking my hair gently.

"No, he's busy with Optimus," I reply, smirking slightly. "He didn't even notice when I slid off his couch and left his room."

"Let's call Catherine, then," Sunstreaker says. "This doesn't look too good."

I groan, throwing my hand up to cover my face. If I've messed up my knee again I'll be seriously annoyed.

At least my neck didn't get any worse.

"She's on her way," Sideswipe says. "Pit, Isobel, you just can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

"You guys are the trouble," I grouse. "I just swirl along in your eddies. Not my fault you're so damn big and make huge maelstroms."

Sideswipe laughs. "Turning poetic in your old age?"

"You're one to talk," I tease. "You're several hundred thousand times my age."

"I'm aging much better than you, though," he shoots back, grinning at me.

The playful banter is interrupted by Catherine blustering through the twins' door, already frowning at me. "What did you do this time?"

I look from her to Sunstreaker and back. They're eerily similar at times.

"She jumped off Ratchet's couch," Sunstreaker replies, frowning at me. "Knee's swollen again."

Catherine tuts at me as she unlatches the brace and examines my knee. The immediate relief is intense – the pain as the blood starts hitting the area again I could do without. After what seems like an age, she straightens again. "Well, I don't think you tore anything. How long ago was this?"

"Yesterday," I admit.

"Too long ago for icing to have any value," she sighs. "All right, you need to stay off that knee for a couple of days. I'll get you some crutches. Is there at least a chance that you can elevate the limb for the remainder of today? And sleep with it raised?"

"We'll make sure of it," Sunstreaker promises. He seems to be in league with Catherine when it comes to my health. It's a good sign for him, too – he's acting almost as a normal person. No sign of the distant, hostile mech I first met back in September.

Catherine's never known that Sunstreaker, though. I bet she'd only seen him from a distance until this whole slag with Swindle happened, and only has gotten to know him after they got me back. Which is good for Sunstreaker. He needs someone around who doesn't have preconceived notions of what he is.

When Catherine packs up and leaves, Sideswipe effortlessly twists me on the couch until I'm seated upright with my leg on a stool. Then a game controller is thrust into my hands, and the twins squeeze in on either side of me.

"Ready for a long night of Lego Dimensions?" Sideswipe wiggles his eyebrow at me.

"As long as I can be Legolas," I grin. "Bring it on."

* * *

_It's funny. The twins are becoming family to me. There's no trace left of the leering, groping Sideswipe, the Sunstreaker with roving hands and seeking lips. Instead, it's an utter cuddle pile very similar to my Protectobots._

_I'm gaining a lot of brothers here._

_Right now I'm between their heads. Their giant metal heads. This close, I can see every detail of their sleeping faces. And I can see how similar they really are._

_Sunstreaker's aloof expression melts away when he recharges. He looks younger, more vulnerable. And the way he's clinging to Sideswipe is nothing short of adorable._

_Sideswipe looks much the same as usual, except his optics are dark. He's even smiling slightly. And he's holding on to his brother just as hard as Sunstreaker's holding on to him. If they hadn't decided that I should be right there between them, I'm fairly sure there wouldn't be room for me here. I have a feeling they normally recharge close enough to each other to be almost as one being. And I'm hoping they don't suddenly pull closer to each other in the night, because then I'll be crushed._

_Despite that very real risk, I feel safe right here. I think I'll sleep well tonight._

* * *

"Hey, Isobel!" Eject grins, bouncing up and down. "Want to play baseball?"

I laugh, gesturing to my crutches and bandaged knee. "Wish I could, Eject. But I'm benched, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I can see that." His frowns slightly before brightening again. "Darts?"

Rewind shakes his head at his brother. "What part of 'off her feet' and 'rest' don't you understand, bro?"

"Well, she can throw darts while sitting," Eject defends himself.

Ramhorn just sighs.

Apparently, staying with Blaster means 'staying at Blaster's quarters with his cassettes as minders'. Blaster himself is on duty for a while longer. I don't mind, though. The cassettes are friendly, they're company, and they're fun.

"Let her get inside, at least," Steeljaw says, slinking up behind his brothers. "And no, Eject, rest and darts are not the same. Hello, Isobel."

"Hey, Steeljaw."

"Aw, Steelie, you're no fun," Eject pouts. "Can we at least watch the game?"

"That's acceptable," Steeljaw allows. "If Isobel wants."

"I've spent a lot of time watching games for sports I didn't follow," I agree. "So I don't mind."

Rewind smiles at me when Eject squeals and runs inside. "Thanks, Isobel. That's nice of you." He looks at my leg and crutches. "Do you need a hand?"

I eye the few steps up to Blaster's front door. He's in a rebuilt house of sorts, rather than a hangar. Maybe they ran out of space? "I think I do, yeah – whoa!"

I flounder a bit, try to catch my balance, as Rewind deposits me on Ramhorn's broad back.

"Um." I look down at the cassette beneath me. "Okay?"

Rewind winks at me. "Just for fun."

Ramhorn turns his head enough that I can see his optic. "Don't worry, Isobel. I won't let you fall."

I'm not sure exactly how he can stop me falling. He doesn't have any arms to catch me with. Still, his back is broad, and hard, and even, and I can hold on to a gap between the plates of his shoulders. He shudders slightly as I grab hold, though. I guess he's ticklish.

All in all, it's sort of like sitting on a table. That just happens to move.

Keeping my balance is tricky at first, especially up the steps. But we're inside soon enough. To my surprise, Ramhorn just lies down in front of the couch, keeping me steady as he does, and then it seems like he goes to sleep.

It's strange. But hey, who am I to judge.

Eject eyes me speculatively. "You know, Alvarez was talking about something called therapy riding. Maybe you should give that a try?"

"Therapy riding?" Rewind echoes. "Oh yeah, that could totally work. Therapy riding strengthens your lower stomach and back musculature if you do it right, did you know? And I bet your core musculature could do with the workout! Three to five weeks of bed rest can lose you 50 percent of your body musculature, did you know that?"

I groan. "That sucks. So riding a horse will help, you say?"

"Well, yeah, a horse," Rewind says, consideringly, "or Steeljaw."

The cat-cassette's head darts up as he stares at his brother. "Excuse me?"

"Well, you're the right shape," Rewind continues, "and we don't have a horse, do we?"

I just stare from one to the other. "Seriously?"

Based on Steeljaw's look, I think he agrees with me.

"Oh, that would be awesome," Eject grins. "You'll be like Mowgli and Bagheera."

"I am not someone's steed," Steeljaw snarls. "Not even hers."

Eject drapes himself over his brother. "Oh, please, Steelie? Pretty pretty please? Just a little bit, to see if it works? And hey, if it works out, you can maybe start your own sport in the Olympics!"

Steeljaw heaves a great sigh and stands up, quickly enough to dislodge his brother. "Isobel, do you think this will help?"

"Honestly?" I shrug. "I have no idea. I'm willing to try the concept with an actual horse. But if you want to stand in for the horse in question, I'm okay with that."

He grumbles low in his throat, and pushes his head against Eject's torso. "Fine. But only because it'll give me some peace. And not in here." He moves towards the door, then turns to glare at both his bipedal brothers. "And _not_ with an audience. Isobel, come on."

I let Eject lift me down from Ramhorn's back, and totter towards the door as fast as my crutches will let me. The door only just doesn't slam shut in my face.

Outside, Steeljaw waits impatiently.

"You know," I say, climbing down the stairs in the most inelegant fashion ever, "you really don't have to do this if you don't want to."

To my surprise, he cracks a smile. It's an interesting look, to say the least. A lot of teeth are involved. "It's okay, Isobel. To be honest, I'm half doing it to get away from the rest of them for an hour. Spending so long apart from Rewind and Eject, with only Ramhorn, Smokey and Trailbreaker for company, it's changed me a bit. I love my brothers to bits, but sometimes I just need to get away for a little while. Besides, I thought you might need a break from them as well."

"Me? Why?" I reach the bottom step and lean against the fencepost gratefully.

"Well, because you were tortured by a pair of mechling cassettes," Steeljaw says, brutally honest. "I was afraid Eject and Rewind might bring up bad memories for you."

"Huh." I sway as I try to stand again, and Steeljaw quickly steps up next to me and lets me grab his shoulder. "You know, I didn't make that connection at all? They're so different. Besides, all I ever saw of Rumble or Frenzy was when they moved me around when I was semi-conscious. I can't even remember what they look like aside from a sense of color. I'm just glad their voices aren't the same."

He nods, a strange gesture on a lion. "That's good." One optic turns to me. "You really look like you should be off your feet. Here." He lies down next to me. "Climb on."

I manage to slide onto his back somehow, holding on to the wing-like things sticking out from his shoulders.

"You ready?"

I nod. "I think so."

And then he starts moving.

Now, I've never been interested in horses. They're big, strong, capable of kicking your head in or biting it off in equal measure, depending on which end you anger at any given time. But I can't imagine even a skilled rider would find much that was familiar in Steeljaw's loping gait.

It's not uncomfortable, as such. I manage to hold on well enough, and after a few moments I manage to relax. And that makes it so much better.

Steeljaw doesn't talk to me much. He confirms that my hold is okay, and then it's mostly silence afterwards. And even though I haven't been comfortable with silence since I was recovered, this is okay.

I'm okay.

"Does your knee hurt?"

I move my leg a bit, experimenting. "No, it's fine. Lucky you're not that wide."

He chuckles. "I suppose. Do you want to go faster?"

"Faster?" I squeak. "Is that safe?"

"Chill, Isobel." He grins, turning his head just enough to let me see it. "You're with me." And then he speeds up.

And next thing I know, we're flying.

I can't stop the laughter from bubbling up. "Steeljaw, you're awesome!"

"Yes, that's the general consensus," he replies, mirth in his voice as well. "Don't forget to hold on, we're coming up on a turn!"

I squeal and hold on for dear life.

By the time we get back to Blaster's place, I'm warm and exhausted and stupidly happy. I'm still giggling a bit, and I can tell Steeljaw's enjoying himself. He slinks up the steps as the door slides open in front of us. As soon as he stops, I slide sideways, physically incapable of holding on anymore. Luckily, large dark hands are there to catch me.

"Heya, Isobel," Blaster chuckles. "Having fun?"

"You bet," I giggle. "Thanks, Steelie."

"You're welcome," he says, and does the cat sounds smug? Yes, he does.

I'm put down in the corner of the big couch, and Blaster sits down next to me. "Well, I'm glad you're having a good day. You were overdue for a few of those." He leans back into the soft cushions with a contented sigh. "Oh, that reminds me. This came for you." He pulls a white, formal-looking envelope from his subspace. "Apparently, the messenger's been chasing you all over base for the last couple of days. I offered to bring it to you."

"Thanks." I stick my little finger in under the flap and tug. There's only the one sheet of paper inside, and I pull it out carefully.

I skim across the letter. Then I do it again. And again. I can feel my eyes going wider by the second.

Blaster looks at me with concern. "What is it, Isobel?"

The paper drops from weakened fingers, and I stare at him. "It's from the base commander. I've been – I've been fired."


	33. Uprooted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the catch-up chapters. Meaning I don't actually have anything more ready, and you'll have to wait until I've actually written the next one ;) That said, I aim to update every other Friday, same as on ff.net. Which means that chapter 34 should be out next Friday (in almost two weeks).  
> I'm also estimating about five or six more chapters for this story to wrap up. Don't worry, I promise a happy ending. And a sequel.  
> Oh! And if you do have an account at ff.net, hop over there and vote in my poll: https://www.fanfiction.net/~blushlouise, This story just hit 200 reviews over there, and we're celebrating with a ficlet of the pairing that receives the most votes!

"What do you mean, you've been fired?" Prowl's holoform eyes bore into mine.

"I mean I've been fired," I reply. Shouldn't that word be enough? "My contract has been terminated."

"Can they do that?" Bumblebee asks, and Parker nods.

"Yes. Isobel's a contracted civilian. Both she and the military are free to end the contract should they choose to." She looks up at me, brown eyes big in her face. "Isobel, this is my fault."

"No, it's not," I reply simply. Even though it is, at least a little bit. All those reports sent up the system finally hit someone who cared enough to do something about them. But it's not all on her. "Their reasoning is solid."

"What does it say?" Prowl asks, still staring intently at me.

There's nothing for it. I pick up the letter and read it out loud for the third time. This would have been so much simpler if they'd all arrived together. But no, I had to read it to Blaster first, then to Parker and Bumblebee, and now again to Prowl and Jazz. If Ratchet and Optimus demand a re-read when they get here I'm shoving the paper down one of their throats.

"To doctor Isobel Harrington, we regret to inform you that, after an evaluation of the current needs and requirements of Edwards Air Force Base, we have reached the conclusion that your services are no longer needed. Your contract is hereby terminated, effective immediately. You will be compensated for the next two weeks, to be paid to an account of your choice. Your clearance is negated, also effective immediately. You are allowed one week to get your affairs on base in order, then you will be expected to leave the base. If you do not have transport, it will be arranged for you. On behalf of some head honcho or other, signed major general Cadock ."

"It reads like a standard discharge letter," Parker says softly.

I nod. "I agree. Though I've never been discharged before."

"Revoke your clearance, effective immediately? Why is everythin' effective immediately?" Jazz sounds frustrated. Good, because I can't afford to lose my cool just yet. If he's frustrated then it forces me to stay calm.

"It's because I have such a high clearance," I explain, passing the letter on to Prowl when he reaches for it. "They can't risk me taking any sensitive information with me. It's fairly normal procedure."

"That's well and good," Bumblebee says, and he's starting to sound frustrated too. "But what are we going to do about it?"

"There's not much we can do," Parker replies, looking from me to the blond holoform. "Not with the way they've reasoned it. We could appeal if they'd listed her conduct or something as the reason, but not when it's listed as the result of a balancing of the needs and requirements of the base. That's a lot harder to repeal. Also, Cadock didn't decide this, for all that he signed it, and the head honcho who did make the decision is high enough up the command structure that I've probably never seen or talked to him. Which means that if she does appeal, it'll be a very lengthy process."

"And with just one week to leave the base, we're never going to make it in time," I conclude.

"You're not actually going to leave the base," Blaster says, but it's more a question than a statement. "Are you?"

"I don't have much of a choice," I point out. "If I don't leave voluntarily by the deadline, I'll be escorted out by military police. Sure, there's some leeway if I can argue my case well enough, but I can't stay. That's not one of the options."

I can see it, the moment it hits them. They hadn't really realized what this meant before now.

"You… You really have to leave us," Bumblebee says, disbelieving.

I nod, and I can feel my control slipping. "I really do."

"You really do what?" Ratchet says, storming in and looking like he's prepared to battle a Decepticon. Optimus is right on his heels.

Prowl stands up and hands Prime my letter. "Isobel has to leave the base. Her contract's been terminated."

Blaster grumbles something that sounds less than polite.

It's got nothing on Ratchet, though. He swears up a litany of impassioned curses that would make any hardened seaman blush.

And Optimus' face darkens as he reads, until he's a storm cloud to match his lover's endless streak of foul phrases.

"Can they really do this, Optimus?" Bumblebee asks timidly, and for the first time since I've met him he actually sounds young.

"I'm afraid they can," Optimus replies grimly, "and they have. Isobel, will you come with us, please?"

I look at Blaster. I was supposed to stay here, after all, but he just lifts his hands and nod. "It's fine by me, little girl. It's not like we can't hang out another time."

I really hope so. Though it seems like the whole world is working against me at the moment.

"Okay. Goodnight, guys," I reply, making sure to look at every cassette – even the still napping Ramhorn, though I'm unsure how much he's registering. "I had fun."

"Anytime, Isobel," Steeljaw says as he pushes his head against my shoulder. "Just say the word."

I can't quite hide the wince as I stand up, and Ratchet's cursing changes timbre. "Slaggit, sparklet, what did you do to yourself know?"

I shrug. I'm not telling him the truth about that. Not tonight, and preferably not ever. "I stepped wrong. Catherine's looked at it, told me to take it easy for a few days."

"Take it easy. As if you're capable of such a thing," he scoffs. "I won't have you put any weight on that knee."

That's all the warning I get before he sweeps me up into his arms and stands up with me effortlessly.

I whack him on the head with a knuckle. "You don't get to carry me around like a child."

"Well, then stop acting like a brat and take the weight off that leg," he retorts. "I'm your medic, I carry you around any way I damn well please."

Optimus interrupts what could very well have turned into an epic snark war. "Isobel, do you want to fight this?"

I look at Parker. "I don't see how I can."

"There's no loophole that I can find," Prowl agrees.

"Both of you, come with us as well, please," Optimus says, and I can suddenly hear the commander in his voice. "Jazz, contact colonel Lennox."

"Will do, Prime." Jazz is all business, though the kiss he gives his mate is anything but. "Bee, come wi' me. We need t' do some damage control."

I just stare at him. Damage control? What kind of damage control?

"Spec ops," Prowl murmurs, catching my look. "Jazz works the rumors."

I still don't understand. But I don't need to. I don't have time to ask anymore either, since Ratchet stomps out the door with me and down the steps. He's still grumbling under his breath as he transforms and drives off with his sirens on and me in the front seat.

* * *

_Forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of circular arguments and discussions that just end up back where they started. That's all I managed before I excused myself and went to bed. Ratchet's gotten this semi-permanent cot thing for me and installed it in his second bedroom. The irony that he's gotten this for me now just before I have to leave isn't lost on me._

_This sucks._

_Parker and Optimus Prime are apparently appealing the decision for me. That's fine. I'll sign anything they put in front of me. But I don't think it'll do much good. We're fighting a System, here, and the decision's been made and passed through so many levels that I'm lucky if I get my job back before I'm forty._

_So I'm making contingency plans._

_Luckily, I still have the funds I inherited after Dad died. And what I got from selling Jeremy's apartment. So I should be able to find something to rent easily enough. I'm thinking I'll head to Los Angeles. Somewhere close to the university – Cal State's psychology department has the courses I'm looking for. And there should be a physical therapist nearby, so I don't have to come out here for my sessions. Since I'm not exactly able to drive or ride a bike, I have to walk everywhere, and I can't even walk very far. So it needs to have everything close by. I've already looked up a few promising prospects._

_I can still hear them talking in there. I wonder if they're going to be at it all night._

_At least it's not quiet._

_Tomorrow I have to call First Aid. I'm not looking forward to that, but I can't not do it. I can't leave it to anyone else either. He should hear it from me._

_Heck, they should all hear it from me. But I'm betting the rumors are all over base by now, despite whatever Jazz and Bumblebee thought they could do about it. I don't know why they thought they could get Eject to keep it quiet. That cassette wouldn't know 'quiet' if it showed up in the commercial break on Super Bowl._

* * *

"Aid?"

_"Hey, Isobel! Primus, it's good to hear your voice, love. I got your text, what's up?"_

I sit down on my cot, missing the landline phone we had when I was a kid where I could wind the cord around my fingers. I play with one of my pens, but it's really not the same. And I'm very nervous about this.

"Something… came up. That I have to tell you about. Do you have time now?"

 _"Sure,"_ First Aid replies. _"I'm just back at our base after a shift at the hospital, so I've got time. We're waiting for Blades and Streetwise anyway, before we're refueling."_ Through the phone line, I can hear the sound of a door closing on his end. _"What's going on?"_

I take a deep breath. There's nothing for it but to get it over with. "I got a letter from base command yesterday. It… wasn't good news." Here goes nothing. "Aid, they've terminated my contract. I have to leave the base."

For a moment, he doesn't reply. I'm beginning to wonder if I have to repeat myself as he speaks again. _"But… what? Isobel, what are you talking about?"_

"The army's terminated my contract," I repeat. "They've fired me. My clearance is revoked, and I have to leave the base." I make myself sit still again, bracing for the reaction I know has to be coming. "I have to leave the Autobots."

I'm not disappointed.

 _"NO!"_ he snarls. _"No, no, that's – Isobel, you can't, you can't leave! No!"_

I hold the phone away from my ear as he keeps snarling. It's very unlike First Aid, but I'm guessing it's coming from the part of him that's still freaking out over losing me to the Decepticons for a month.

"First Aid," I plead, "listen, Aid, please. Are you there?"

 _"He's not, Belle,"_ someone else replies. There's only one 'Bot who calls me by that nickname. _"Hot Spot's trying to calm him down, but Aid's frantic. He routed the comm through to me. Isobel, what's going on?"_

I repeat my explanation, waiting for Groove to explode as well.

 _"Well, that sucks slag,"_ he says calmly. _"Do you have a time frame?"_

I relax slightly. I can still hear First Aid ranting in the background, but Groove's not fussing about it, and I know Hot Spot can talk his brother down.

"They gave me a week," I reply. "But that was three days ago. I have to leave by Saturday."

Groove sighs. _"That doesn't give us a lot to work with, does it? Barring Blades, I don't think any one of us can get back on our own power by then, and there's no place here both big enough and intact enough for Skyfire to land."_

"I know," I agree, "and you shouldn't, either. You're needed where you are."

 _"You're probably right."_ He doesn't sound very happy, but then, nobody is happy about this. _"So where are you going?"_

"Los Angeles," I reply. "So I won't be far. I won't be allowed to visit you guys on base since I don't have clearance to know about you anymore, but I guess I can visit Alice or Parker unless they revoke that right too. And you guys can certainly visit me, you don't answer to the US military."

He chuckles at that. _"No, thankfully. And we know Optimus won't deny us leave. Oh, hang on. Aid wants you back."_

I wait as Groove routs me back to his brother.

 _"Isobel?"_ First Aid's voice is broken, and I'm reminded of when we broke down in each other's company when I first got back. _"Isobel, what can we do?"_

"Nothing, it turns out," I sigh. "Parker has been working with Prowl and Optimus to repeal it, but we're butting our heads against a wall of bureaucracy here. So I'm leaving in a couple of days."

 _"I'm coming back right now,"_ he says, and I hear the sounds of a transformation. _"I'm on my way."_

"No, Aid, don't," I plead. I knew he was going to do this, but I can't let him. "First Aid, they need you down there. You're saving lives."

 _"I don't care,"_ he growls. _"You're more important."_

Damn. He's being difficult. "First Aid, stop," I say, injecting a note of sternness in my voice. "I refuse to let you sacrifice those people for me."

I can hear the breaks squealing through the comm.

"I'm safe." I try to sound both gentle and decisive, but I don't know how much I manage. "I'm okay. I'm just moving to another town for a while. I won't even be far."

 _"Isobel,"_ and now he's pleading. It's heart-wrenching. _"Isobel, please."_

"First Aid," I reply, as soothingly as I can. "It'll be okay. I'm going to be a bit farther away, that's all. You and me, we've been spoiled until now, since we've practically been living on top of each other. We can manage a bit more distance, can't we? I'll be in LA, it's not that far away. You can get there in less than an hour."

First Aid is apparently in holoform now, because I can hear his unsteady breathing. But he's not protesting anymore. So I dare to continue.

"I've gotten an apartment in a nice building. It's just a few blocks from the university, and there's a physical therapist just down the road. I'm on the third floor, and there's this tiny elevator so I can get in and out with this knee. It's got two bedrooms and a tiny kitchen and looks adorable." I lean back on the bed until I'm lying flat and staring at the ceiling. "I've even contacted the university to check if I could follow a few classes, and they want me to teach, can you believe it? Apparently, they've been lacking someone to handle the PTSD field. So I'll be holding classes twice a week."

He's calming down. I can hear it.

"Ratchet is helping me move," I continue. "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are coming as well. I don't have a lot of stuff, and the apartment is furnished, but I can't carry anything with this leg. And then Ratchet is staying over for the first night to help me settle."

 _"You'll be all alone at night after that,"_ First Aid says. His voice is still shaking. _"You'll be alone every day."_

"I'll get a dog," I promise, a spur-of-the-moment decision. "Like Parker. Or something like that. And you'll come visit me as often as you can, won't you?"

 _"Absolutely,"_ he promises fervently. Then he sighs. _"Isobel, we won't be able to keep you safe down there."_

"Contrary to popular belief, L.A. is actually not that dangerous," I reply, and now I'm smiling. "I've lived in big cities before, I know what to do and not do. It's a safe neighborhood. And I have a secret weapon. Or, not a weapon exactly." Because Wheeljack had refused to recreate my gun. He had, however, gone to town with the panic button bracelet Ratchet gave me back when Sunstreaker and Sideswipe was acting up. Ratchet's been sitting on it this entire time, apparently. "Wheeljack made me a panic bracelet. It has a button on it that I can push, and it instantly connects to both the general communications hub and you guys' HUDs."

 _"Really?"_ First Aid sounds relieved, now. _"How does that work?"_

"I have no idea, I'm not Wheeljack," I giggle. "But I warned Blaster I might do this, so we can test it if you like?"

_"Let me contact the others first."_

I wait as First Aid vanishes from the line for a moment. It sounds like he's fairly calm again and coming to terms with it, and I shoot a smile towards the door, where Ratchet's holoform is hovering. He's been outside my door this whole time, showing himself every now and then. I need to have a talk with him about personal boundaries, apparently.

 _"Okay, love,"_ First Aid says. _"Push the button."_

My fingers slide along the woven silver, deceptively heavy with encapsulated wiring and electronics, until I find the bright blue crystal. I push it twice, quickly, and First Aid chuckles.

 _"It says 'Isobel Alert' and then lists your coordinates,"_ he explains. _"That's clever."_

I giggle at that. "Should get your attention, shouldn't it?"

 _"Definitely,"_ he agrees, and I can hear the smile in his voice. Then he's serious again. _"You will use it if you need to, won't you?"_

"I will," I promise. "Aid, will you be okay?"

He sighs. " _It sucks that you won't be there when we get back. I can't even tell you how horrible that thought is. And you better make sure you're always expecting me, because I'll be there with you every chance I get."_

"Good," I reply. "Because I'll be missing you every minute."

_"Can I call you later?"_

"Whenever you want. I love you, Aid."

_"I love you too, Isobel. Always."_

The line breaks.

I turn towards Ratchet. He's still hovering in the doorway, bless him.

"Did you manage to calm him down?"

I nod. "Eventually. He's got his brothers there to help him." I take a deep breath, but it doesn't help much. I can feel my control fraying. "Ratchet, are you busy right now?"

"Not at all," he replies, coming into the room. "What do you need?"

My throat tightens and I squeeze my eyes shut. "I need to fall apart a little bit."

"Oh, Isobel," he murmurs softly. I can feel the bed dip as he sits down next to me, and don't resist when he pulls me into his lap. "That's understandable. You've held up wonderfully so far. Shh, sparklet." A gentle hand rub circles on my back. "Just let it all out. I'm here."

I sob into his shirt for what seems like hours. He's still holding me when I fall asleep, completely exhausted.

* * *

_These last few days have been a whirlwind. Time passes too fast for me._

_When the Autobots decide to get something done, it gets done._

_I've packed down almost all my stuff by now. It's all crates and boxes in my room. Pretty much everything I own has been boxed up, except for a small overnight bag._

_Today's my last day on base. Tomorrow, I'm leaving._

_I can't even say how much I hate this. It's the most shitty thing I've had to do in a long time. I haven't felt this mentally wrung out since I lost Jeremy. I'm trying to hold it together, but it's not easy._

_I've cried more in public lately than I have ever done._

_I did worry that the Autobots would freak out over me freaking out. But every time I feel myself tearing up, someone hugs me._

_I've never been hugged more than I have in the last week either._

_And tomorrow I'm leaving._

_I'm going to miss them all so damn much._

* * *

"Hey, Isobel!" Bluestreak is grinning. Seriously, he's lighting up the room. "Are you ready?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. It's remarkably effective on this 'Bot – I guess it's because Prowl does the same thing. "Ready?"

"Yeah, ready! For the party! And slag, now I've told you there's a party, you weren't supposed to know but I guess there was no keeping it from you for much longer anyway was there? Do you want to change first or something?"

A party. This has Bumblebee written all over it. Maybe with a dash of Sideswipe on the side. "I don't have anything else to change into, Blue. All my clothes are in bags over in my old room, remember? You're going to have to take me as I am, I'm afraid."

"No keeping her out late," Ratchet says from the other room. "We've got an early start tomorrow."

Honestly, he's taking this family thing too much to heart.

"Oh, okay, Ratchet! We'll make sure to get her back in time!" Bluestreak grins and tugs at my arm until I have no choice but to follow him.

"We're stealing you for the evening, Isobel! I hope you don't mind that we kind of spring this on you, Bumblebee said you'd be okay with it even though you've had your share of nasty surprises lately, haven't you? Though this isn't a nasty surprise at all, we tried to make it fun for you, and everyone is there. Well, almost everyone. Red Alert of course won't leave his hub, and Inferno's there with him, and someone has to man the comm station but almost everyone's either already there or on their way! I was sent to get you because –"

I let Bluestreak's chatter continue to wash over me as we walk outside to the alt mode waiting by the command quarters. Bluestreak's alt is low-slung and fast-looking, and I get into the grey car gratefully.

"Nice," I praise, running a hand over the dash, an area that experience has taught me is sensitive but not over-sensitive to touch.

"Thanks!" Bluestreak's holoform slides in next to me with a wide grin. "I kind of like my look, but some people have said it's boring."

"Who cares what some people think," I scoff. "You look good. Not excessive, so you can blend in anywhere, but you stand out at the same time. You wouldn't be out of place parked outside my new apartment." I reach out to touch his arm. "And in case that wasn't a clear enough hint, this is me inviting you to come visit me in L.A. I still owe you an apology for the stuff I said when you visited me in the clinic that time."

He shakes his head. "Nah, don't worry about that, Isobel. You were hurting. I've said horrible things too when I've been hurting." He looks outside and grins. "We're here."

And then I'm suddenly blindfolded. From behind. Where I could have sworn there was no one when I got in the car.

"Don't worry," someone purrs. "It's just me. This is part of the surprise."

Apparently, Mirage has programmed his holoform to be invisible, too.

I really, really, really, really wish we had these guys' tech.

I'm escorted out of the car by an eerily silent spy and a cheerfully blabbering sniper. The ground is soft and gives under my feet, and I can't hear any signs of where I am. Of course, Blue's loud steps could be drowning out all manners of sins. Mirage is, not unexpectedly, completely undetectable. If he hadn't been touching my arm I wouldn't know he was there.

"Mechs, where are you taking me?" I'll admit to being a bit nervous, and more than a little uncomfortable. Only the fact that I know these two would never hurt me – well, I know Blue wouldn't, and Mirage probably won't – keeps my heartbeat in the normal range.

"It's a secret," Mirage purrs. "You'll see in a moment."

Another minute or so of traipsing through what I realize is grass. And then I'm pretty much floored by a loud shout, several voices calling out my name.

Mirage removes the blindfold with a flourish.

It's a bonfire. And Bluestreak wasn't kidding. Everyone is here.

Arcee bounds up and kisses my cheek. Her head is covered in tiny blond braids today, and when she whirls around to drag me towards where everyone's gathered the beads at the ends of the braids almost smack Mirage in the face. He doesn't look too pleased, but I'm not allowed to stay and look at him for too long.

Arcee passes me to Blaster who passes me to Bumblebee who passes me to Parker, one of the few humans here. And then it continues.

By the time I get the chance to sit down on one of the benches, sandwiched between Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, I've been hugged something around forty-four times. It's enough to make me dizzy.

"You guys are crazy." I lean against Sunstreaker's holoform gratefully.

"Comes with being at war for millions of years," he replies, putting his arm around me and pulling me snugger against his side. "You learn to roll with it or roll over dead."

"And we don't like the being dead thing," Sideswipe continues. "Being crazy is far preferable."

I giggle. "I can totally support that reasoning."

"So you ready for tomorrow?" Sunstreaker asks, softly enough that I don't think anyone else can hear us.

"Not by a long shot," I reply truthfully. "But I don't have a choice. You know if I did I would never leave you guys."

Sideswipe leans over on the bench until his head is in my lap. "And you know we'd keep you if we could."

I stroke his hair, because that's clearly what he's after. "I know."

Rewind stops in front of us and hands me a plate with a chargrilled hot dog on it. "Dinner's served," he says, grinning crookedly. "Sorry that it got sort of black, Eject's never grilled a sausage over open fire before and he kind of screwed it up."

I grin. "I've done the same myself. Thanks."

"No problem." He drops down to sit on the grass in front of us. "So you ready to leave?"

I groan. I can't deal with that question all night. "Sideswipe, up."

As he straightens, I pull out from under Sunstreaker's arm and stand up. "Hey, guys? Can I have your attention for a moment?"

It takes more than a few moments to get them all to shut up. In the end, Jazz has to stand up and blast some really loud noise from the speakers on his legs – which I totally hadn't realized that he had, so I know I'm wide-eyed as I stare at him. He just winks at me, though, before transforming again and calling up the holoform.

"Um. Thanks, Jazz. So guys, I just wanted to make something perfectly clear." I take a deep breath and try to look around at all of them. "If it was up to me, they'd have to tie me to a train and pull me out of here to get me to leave. But it's not up to me. And if I stay, I risk pretty much everything I've worked for, and I risk your status as well. I refuse to do so. That's why I'm leaving. It's not by choice. It's not something I'm doing cheerfully. But I still have to." Sunstreaker puts a hand on my back, and it's a welcome anchor as I swallow to get rid of the lump that's forming in my throat.

"These last ten months have been amazing. An adventure from one end to the other. I'm very grateful to all of you for including me the way you have. I've enjoyed spending time with every one of you, I consider every one of you my friends, and I'm going to miss every single person here, metal or otherwise. And you're all, without exception, welcome to visit me in my new apartment whenever you want." I look at Silverbolt. "Though some of you will have to be creative, since I don't have convenient airstrip access."

He chuckles. "We'll find a way anyway."

"Good." I grin. "Because there's one thing I just can't stand the thought of," and oh boy, here come the waterworks, "and that is for this to be the end of things. I completely refuse to let that happen. So I'll come visit you as much as I can. You will come visit me, all of you. You can schedule appointments, even. Just – " I blink away the tears that are threatening to spill over, but it's a temporary measure at best. "Just please come visit me. Please don't forget." Deep breaths now. Just a little more. "I'm going to miss you guys so much. You're family to me. And I can't tell you how much that means to me."

Damn. Now I'm crying. "That's all I wanted to say," I manage. "I love all of you guys."

That's it. I can't speak anymore. I can't even breathe properly. I'm falling apart.

I should have known that my friends won't let me fall far.

Because Prowl is there, wrapping me up in perfect holoform closeness, and Jazz is behind me, crooning softly in my ear. Someone takes my hand, and I turn my head to see Fireflight next to us, tears running down his face as well, with Bluestreak's arms around his waist. Bumblebee and Parker are right behind them, and Parker's holding onto Alice, and Catherine's on the redhead's other side with Smokescreen behind her again.

Everyone's crowding in around us.

My other hand is snatched up as well, and Arcee's leaning her head against mine. "I'm going to miss you so much," she whispers. "You bet I'm coming down every chance I get. And I'm bringing Blaster and the cassettes with me."

I just nod, pushing back against her. I don't have the use of my voice right now.

"We'll be there as often as possible," Prowl says softly right next to my ear. "You're not going to be alone, dearspark."

"Ya's ours," Jazz agrees, still humming softly against my back. "And ya's gonna stay ours."

And then Blaster's there, cradling my face in large dark hands and tilting it upwards. His thumbs swipe in to rub away the tears on my cheeks.

"No more tears now, Isobel," he says softly, giving me a smile. "Let's celebrate tonight."

I'm not sure exactly what we should be celebrating, but I draw a shaky breath and nod. When Prowl tries to let go of me, though, I hold on to his shirt. I need the support.

He gets it, it seems. Or Jazz does. Instead of moving away, they direct me back to the bench I was sitting on, where the twins are still seated. Sideswipe's eyes are suspiciously shiny, but Sunstreaker just reaches for me and pulls me into his lap.

I settle against his chest gratefully. Sideswipe moves closer until he's flush against Sunstreaker's side, close enough that I can feel his breath on the back of my head, and Jazz sits down on Sunny's other side. Prowl moves around the bench to stand behind us, and suddenly I have Alice in front of me leaning up against my legs, and Fireflight and Bluestreak next to her, with Arcee leaning up against Jazz's legs.

I'm surrounded. And it feels wonderful.

Blaster's still standing in front of me with the bonfire behind him. He spins in a slow circle, arms raised, and a hush falls over the clearing again.

"Autobots," he says, clearly but not loudly. "Friends. You all know why we're here. Isobel here," and now he's pointing at me, "she's one of us. So we're going to celebrate that fact. But before we get this party started…" He grins, and it's an almost wolfish expression. "It's time for the present. Slingshot, if you please."

I can feel my eyebrows climbing. I wasn't expecting a present.

The Aerialbot almost struts to where Blaster was standing. I can practically see the spotlight. "So!" he announces brightly. "I've been given the great honor and privilege of being in charge of your farewell present, Isobel. And let me tell you, it wasn't easy! You already have your comm phone, so giving you another one would be dumb. We thought about getting you a car, but we couldn't find anything that was good enough for you." He winks at me. "We also thought about getting you a plane."

Prowl leans down behind me until his mouth is level with my ear. "That was never really a serious plan. The car, though – say the word, and transportation will be arranged for you. Just tell me and I'll send you an Autobot."

I lean my head against his. "Thanks. I'll remember."

"Indeed, we found ourselves in quite the predicament!" Slingshot continues, throwing his arms out dramatically. "But after a lot of consideration and careful planning and double-checking, we finally found the right thing. And I think you'll like this, Isobel. Without further ado – Skyfire, would you please?"

The tall, brown-haired holoform walks in from behind a bench, giving me a small smile. "Hello, Isobel. First, let me just say how sorry I am to see you go. And though you don't have landing space for a shuttle on your roof, I hope you'll still make time for me. I'll find a way."

I smile back and nod. "Sure thing, 'Fire. You're always welcome."

"Ooh, nickname status!" someone crows. I giggle.

"Thanks," Skyfire chuckles. "Anyway. After long consideration and many and thorough tests, we've made you something. I hope you like it."

His presentation is very understated after Slingshot's exuberance. It's a pleasant difference. He takes a step closer and hands me a small wrapped box with a silver ribbon, and then steps back.

I peel off the wrapping carefully to find a black jewelry box. When I open it, I can't help gasping.

There's a necklace in the box. It's all intricately connected silver wires, supporting five different pendants crafted in different materials.

It's gorgeous.

"We've made this especially for you," Skyfire explains. "The chain is white-plated gold. The ornaments are crafted from rare metals and minerals that are intrinsic in our frames, but can also occur on Earth – except one." He smiles slightly. "We tested them extensively to make sure they were safe to wear next to the skin."

I touch the silver-looking pendant carefully. "They're beautiful. What are they?"

"On the left, electrum," he replies. "That's a tiny model of a transformation cog, the part that lets us transform into our alt modes. Then it's bismuth, sculpted to look like a model of Cybertron. In the middle, the Autobot symbol in platinum. Then it's an actual tiny energon crystal, condensed and hardened chemically until it's solid enough to withstand damage. At the end, and this one can't be found on this planet or even in this solar system: Cybertonium, cut as a tetrahedron."

I look from him to the box on my lap. "Are you saying that I'll be wearing an actual piece of Cybertron around my neck?"

Skyfire nods. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

I don't know what to say. So I hand the box to Sunstreaker. "Help me put it on?"

"Of course," he murmurs, long artist's fingers deftly loosening the clasp and fastening the necklace around my neck.

It feels almost like it's got warmth of its own.

I look from Skyfire to Wheeljack and Perceptor, who I'm sure must have been involved in this, to all the other faces looking at me. "Thank you. All of you. This is amazing. I don't have words."

"Looks good on you," Wheeljack replies, smiling and nodding at me.

I touch the Cybertonium crystal gently. It's smooth and hard under my fingertip.

"So!" Slingshot calls, startling me. "That's over and done with, and it looks beautiful on you, Isobel. But there's a lot more to this party than that. Anyone ready for some beats?"

Blaster grins and pulls his earphones up.

* * *

In the end, I almost fall asleep still seated on the bench. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe left me to go dancing, and I'm vaguely aware of someone picking me up gently – "no, that's all right, I've got her" – and carrying me away. There's the sound of transformation, and next I'm sitting in a strangely familiar car seat, still cradled in someone's arms.

I can't manage to wake up completely.

When the car sounds – smooth, humming engine sounds – stop, I'm lifted again. Whoever it is walks somewhere with me, I can feel his footsteps even though I can't hear them. I can hear him knock on a door, though.

"Mirage?" That's Ratchet. He sounds worried. And now I guess I know why the car seat seemed familiar – if I can remember this in the morning. "What happened?"

"She's just asleep," Mirage reassures. "It's been too much for her, poor thing. There were more than a few emotional moments."

"And Isobel feels everything so keenly," Ratchet says softly as I'm moved from one pair of arms to a hard surface that curls around me. "Thank you for bringing her home."

"Of course."

The door closes, I think, and I try to curl up in the hard cradle I'm in.

"Come on, sparklet," Ratchet says softly. "It's bed time."

The footsteps are noticeable now as well, harder even. Ratchet pushes another door closed.

"What's happened?" I know that voice too.

"Isobel fell asleep at the party, apparently," Ratchet says. "Mirage brought her."

"Give her here?"

I slide gently from the hard cradle to a hard, warm surface, where I'm finally allowed to curl up. Someone puts a blanket around me.

"You know you're going to have to lie on your back all night with her like that," Ratchet says.

"I don't mind." The voice both rumbles in my ear and vibrate in the hard surface beneath me. It's soothing. "I like having her this close to my spark. The Matrix appreciates it, too. It likes her."

Ratchet just snorts. "If you say so."

"I do. Come here, my love. You're as tired as I am."

The surface moves, and there are noises I don't recognize, then something stroking my back.

"Goodnight, sparklet," Ratchet whispers. "Sleep tight."

I burrow into the blanket, feeling completely safe. There's something humming beneath me, just out of hearing, and it's enticing. It's very easy to succumb to the call, and I fall asleep listening to the purr of Optimus' spark.

* * *

I step out of the ambulance and look up. The building isn't very tall, about five stories, and it looks well enough maintained. The stone steps in front of it are giving me pause, though. I guess I'll get to train my knee.

"This it?" Ratchet says, stepping out besides me.

"According to Google Maps," I nod. "Should we see if my key works?"

Ratchet lets me lean on him as I climb the steps. My progress is slow enough that both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have time to drive up and park along the street behind us before I've reached the top.

Sideswipe comes jogging up just as I unlock the front door. "Is this it?"

"Yep," I reply as the door buzzes open. "This is it. Want to come up and look before we start carrying stuff?"

"Let's bring the crates Sunstreaker's hauling," Sideswipe says, turning to head back down the stairs. "If I have to listen to one more complaint about his upholstery I might have to offline my audials."

I giggle at that. I can vividly imagine the grousing Sideswipe has probably put up with on the way here.

"Well?" Ratchet says. "Want to go inside?"

I nod and step into the tiny foyer. There is a staircase, a small elevator, a board for announcements and such, and a set of mailboxes. That's about it.

"Guys, we're on the third floor," Ratchet calls back to the twins. "Just start bringing stuff up."

I head for the elevator and push the button. Luckily, the thing seems to be functional.

"Good," Ratchet says behind me, agreeing as if he'd heard my thoughts. "I don't want you walking the stairs yet."

It's a tight fit with the two of us in the elevator, it's that small. I bet I'll have to make several trips to bring my groceries home.

My door is unimpressive, but solid-looking. I can feel my heart hammering as I unlock it.

"Welcome to the new Harrington dwelling," I say jokingly as the door swings open in front of me.

"Not bad," Ratchet says, looking around as he walks inside.

It really isn't. We walk into a small hallway which opens up to a living room that stretches lengthwise of the apartment. The tiny kitchen is attached near the hallway, and two bedrooms and a bathroom are situated down the side of it. The sun's shining in through the windows, illuminating the space.

It looks nice. I need some time to make it look homey, but it's not impossible.

"This is decent," Sideswipe comments, walking in behind us. "Where do you want the boxes?"

I wave my hand at all the open space. "Oh, just put them anywhere for now. Ratchet and I can start unpacking while you two haul them up the stairs."

"I knew you had ulterior motives when you said we could come," Sunstreaker grumbles, but I know he doesn't mean it.

As the guys grumble behind me, I walk over to the window. The view's not spectacular, but it's not bad either. I can see the university building from here.

"Hello?"

"Isobel, your first visitor," Sideswipe calls. "Come on in, ma'am, don't mind us."

I turn to see a classic little old lady smiling tentatively at me. Her hair's still dark, but there's more gray in it than black, and her face is wrinkled. She's folded tiny hands at a trim waist, elegant jacket still buttoned against the wind outside, a gold wedding ring glinting on one finger. "Hello! Is so nice to meet you! You moving in today, yes?"

"I am," I reply, walking over to her and reaching out my hand. "I'm Isobel Harrington. I work over at the university."

"Very nice, big pleasure meeting you," the small creature beams. Seriously, she's at least a head shorter than me. "My name is Jebid Stepanyan. I live next door."

"Nice to meet you," I smile back. It doesn't look like my neighbor's going to be much trouble. I wave a hand towards the three holoforms. "These are my friends, Sunny, Sides and Ratchet. They're helping me move."

"Nice to meet you," Ratchet says, shaking her hand. "If you'll excuse us, though, we have more crates to carry."

Mrs. Stepanyan beams at him too, nodding, before turning her attention back to me. "Is good to have strong men for the lifting, is it not?"

"It is," I reply with feeling. "They're very handy."

The little woman chatters brightly at me while Ratchet and the twins carry up all my boxes. She only leaves when the clutter threatens to overwhelm her. To actually physically overwhelm her, even – Sideswipe's stacked boxes up taller than she is. She leaves with a promise to bring dinner over for me, never mind that I say she doesn't need to.

"All right," Sideswipe grins, cracking his knuckles. Ratchet winces. "Let's get this place inhabited."

As it turns out, I'm barely needed. I'm quickly placed on the couch, reduced to giving my opinion now and then, while Sunstreaker's artistic genius and Sideswipe's boundless energy turn my new apartment into something that feels like home. When mrs. Stepanyan comes back over with a big casserole, Sideswipe turns on all his charm and thanks her profusely, putting it in the oven to stay warm.

In no time at all, it's time for them to leave.

"Come visit me," I say fiercely, hugging Sunstreaker tightly. "You'll do so, right?"

"As often as I'm allowed," he replies. "I'll miss you, little sister."

Sideswipe lifts me, spinning in a circle until I'm dizzy. "Comm me as often as you want," he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "You'll see us back here before you know it."

They don't say goodbye. They just give a cheerful wave and leave. I can hear the front door close behind them, and the sound of strong engines heading down the street.

"So," Ratchet says as the quiet settles around us. "What next?"

"Well," I reply, turning towards the tiny kitchen. "That casserole smells good."

* * *

_Ratchet is asleep. I can hear his quiet breathing on the bed behind me._

_I can't sleep yet, though. This place is too new, too unfamiliar. There's a new skyline outside the window, a new smell in the air, a new path to learn the bathroom. It'll take me a few days to find my footing again._

_I feel like a chapter of my life just ended. It's bittersweet._

_And I know it's not that bad. They're just an hour away. The Protectobots will be back in a week or so, and then Ratchet has given First Aid three days off. So he's going to be staying with me all that time. And Parker promised that she and Bumblebee would be coming down on Wednesday to visit._

_It's not an ending. But it feels like one._

"You should be sleeping," Ratchet grumbles. "Come here."

He puts his arms around my waist and pulls me closer until we're flush against each other. "This okay?"

"It's good," I agree, closing my eyes and relaxing against him. Ratchet just grunts and turn to lie on his back, one hand resting on my back.

"Good. Then sleep, sparklet."

I try not to think about the fact that this may be the last time I lay next to him like this. Ratchet's safety, to me, for all his bluster. He's home.

The hand on my back begins rubbing soothing circles into my shoulder. It's too hard to resist, and I'm asleep before I know it.


	34. Adjusting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed… I added a total chapter count! We are approaching the end of this monster, and what a ride it's been. I'm so looking forward to writing down the ending that's been in my brain since September :D

_Living like this sucks. It plain old sucks._

_It's not the place. My apartment is as nice as I expected, mrs. Stepanyan stops by every other day, more often than not with food she claims she made extra, and the neighborhood's nice. There's a decent bookstore, a better grocery store, and a tiny thrift shop in the corner where I discovered more decent Fables comics than I knew what to do with. My new job at the university is interesting, too – I've never taught students before, but I think I'm getting the hang of it. Either that, or they've all learned to sleep with their eyes open, which is a useful skill in and of itself. I should probably be proud to have inspired it in a new generation._

_It still sucks, though. It's the solitude. I don't handle it well anymore._

_I lasted all of one day alone before I caved. So now I'm the proud owner of a big black ball of hair with bad breath and worse slobber. Benji's massive, half giant schnauzer and half back-alley meanness and all cheerful wagging tail._

_I guess asking for a guard dog who was also friendly and easy-going was a bit of a mistake. The shelter only had one or the other, apparently – I could get guard dog, or I could get friendly dog._

_I chose friendly dog. Mainly because the German shepherd mix they tried to set up as a guard dog frightened the crap out of me._

_Parker brought by some literature on dogs when she was here. It'll help, I bet. She liked Benji, too, said I'd made a good choice. So I guess that's good._

_Getting a dog didn't help that much, though. Sure, he's an extra soul in the apartment. There's company in him. He's always happy to see me. Now if only I could figure out a way to bring him to work with me. I bet the students would stay awake then. And he can't come with me on the subway. Or to the store. It doesn't help my nerves much to leave him outside, so I have to leave him at home for most of those errands._

_He makes me feel safe, though. He's big enough to give most people pause._

_But he's still a dog. He can't smile at me and tell me I'm beautiful, or grin and ask what project we're doing next, he can't call me 'sweetspark' and challenge me to a video game or tell me in a gruff way that I should take better care of myself, slaggit._

_He's not them._

_I miss the Autobots. I miss having people around who talk to me. I miss having someone there who's big, and strong, and can kick anyone's butt if necessary._

_I miss my family._

* * *

"Come on, boy. Move your lazy carcass."

Balancing the lead in one hand and my tiny bag of groceries – all I can manage to carry – in the other is a neat trick. It took me a few days to manage. At least my knee is well enough that I can walk on it.

Benji could be more helpful, though. Maybe I should get him a backpack. Or teach him to walk on the lead properly.

As we round the last corner in front of my building, I stop. And I stare.

And then I run. Benji's keeping up, barking like mad as I round the ambulance and throw myself into the arms of the waiting holoform.

First Aid catches me, of course. He always does. He hoists me up, supporting all my weight with his hands under my thighs, and I just cling to him.

"Primus, Isobel," he gasps, "I've missed you."

I can't answer. My voice disappeared. So I just burrow into his shoulder and stay there, inhaling his scent and, yeah, crying.

My Protectobot is back.

"Um, Isobel? What do I do with this bouncing animal?"

First Aid puts me down, cradling my face and rubbing at the tears on my cheeks with his thumbs. I turn my head to see Groove, holding on to the end of Benji's leash, while my black furball has his paws all the way up on his chest, barking at him.

Some guard dog.

"Benji, get down," I giggle. "Just push him. And oh my God, Groove, it's so good to see you."

"Likewise," he grins, finally getting the dog back under control. "Much as I appreciate the enthusiastic greeting, should we continue this inside?"

I nod and pick up my discarded grocery bag. I didn't even notice I'd dropped it.

As soon as I've picked up my bag, First Aid picks me up. He sweeps me off my feet, as he likes doing, and when I arch an eyebrow at him he just grins, completely unrepentant.

"I haven't seen you in weeks," he says. "You really think I'm letting go of you?"

I think about that for a moment. Then I fish up my purse and pull out my key. "Here. Third floor, left-hand side."

Groove chuckles. "I guess that means I'm in charge of this creature, huh? Benji, was it?"

"I'm glad you actually did get a dog," First Aid murmurs, kissing my hair. "Then you're not alone."

"He helps," I agree, and lean in against him. "But take me inside, and I'll show you how much I missed you."

And holy crap, I did not know my voice could sound like that. I'm almost _purring_.

First Aid notices, his hands are tightening. "Oh, will you?"

I nip at his ear. "That's a promise."

"Gee, Isobel, I'm so glad you got a dog," Groove puts in from behind us. Somehow First Aid's climbed the front steps already and I didn't even notice. "Then I have someone to hang out with while you two ravage each other."

"Good idea," First Aid replies with a smirk, still not taking his eyes off me. "Why don't you take him for a walk? Come back in a couple of hours?"

I smack him lightly. "Shut up. Groove's as welcome as you. Well, maybe not quite as welcome as you. But he's more welcome than a lot of others. Besides, I need my Groove hug before he gets to go anywhere."

First Aid climbs the stairs, I realize, rather than taking the elevator. I don't mind, it would have been a tight fit.

"Isobel? That you, _im sireli_?"

I twist in First Aid's arms. "Put me down, Aid. Yes, it's me, mrs. Stepanyan!"

The tiny woman steps out in the hallway, looks down the stairs at us curiously. In her hands, she's holding the inevitable covered dish. She looks at us with clear surprise. "Isobel, more men? You have many men friends, yes?"

First Aid gently places me on my feet on the landing. "I do. Mrs. Stepanyan, this is my fiancée, Aidan. And this is his brother, Groove."

She breaks out into this huge smile. "Fiancée! Oh, Isobel, why you not tell me!" She looks down at my hand. "You have no ring?"

"I had to get it sized," First Aid explains with an easy smile, playing along with my sort-of-lie. He offers his hand to her. "Hello, mrs. Stepanyan. It's nice to meet you."

"So nice to meet you," she gushes, still beaming. "You will come often, yes? Isobel misses you."

She must have heard me crying through the walls.

"I'll be here as often as I can," he promises, pulling me close. "I've missed her too."

"Aid's a paramedic," I explain. "He just came back from volunteer work in Chile."

Groove steps past us, aided by Benji, who seems to have decided that he's done waiting in the staircase. "Hi, mrs. Stepanyan," he calls as he's pulled past us. "I'm Groove, it's nice to meet you."

First Aid chuckles. "Go on, love. I'm not sure which one of those two is in control."

My neighbor pushes the dish into my hands. It's still warm. "Here. I made food."

"Thank you, mrs. Stepanyan," I reply gratefully. "You're a real lifesaver."

"Oh, it is nothing," she giggles. "My son, he promise he come for dinner, but he's late from work. So I have extra." She stretches up and pats First Aid on the chest, the highest part of him she can reach. "Take good care of her."

"I will," he replies, still looking at me. "She's my everything."

I can feel the blush. And the tears brimming. "I missed you so much."

"I won't intrude," mrs. Stepanyan says, looking from him to me and smiling. "I will let you two catch up. See you tomorrow, Isobel."

"I'll bring the dish by in the morning," I promise as First Aid follows me across the threshold and closes the door behind us.

"Men friends?" he asks, putting his arms around my waist and nipping at my ear.

I giggle as I put the dish down. "Poor mrs Stepanyan, she got overwhelmed. When Parker was here on Wednesday, she brought Bumblebee, Bluestreak, Mia and Ironhide, Smokescreen, Cliffjumper and Trailbreaker. Lots of men." I giggle. "And they filled up every parking spot in the street. There were a lot of oglers."

Groove chuckled. "I can imagine. It must have looked like a car collectors' meet and greet or something. Sit, Benji." The dog promptly drops to his butt in front of him, and is rewarded with a treat. It seems that Groove found my dog goodie box. "Heh. I like this guy."

I drop into the couch gratefully. "Good. Then you can keep him entertained for a few moments while I relax."

First Aid puts my things away – since I once again forgot about my grocery bag – and drops down next to me with a frown. "Your cabinets aren't stocked."

"I fill them as fast as I'm able," I reply, crawling into his lap. "You'd be working slowly too, if you could only carry half a grocery bag home at the time."

"We'll go shopping," Groove decides. "Benji can mind the apartment, can't you, boy? Who's a good boy?"

Maybe Groove should have gotten a dog too.

"Tomorrow," First Aid agrees. His arms encircle my waist and pulls me close. "For now, I'm not moving again for anything."

Groove chuckles. "Guess it's up to me to keep your fiancée fed, then. Benji, take a break."

The dog looks at him for a moment, then lowers his head and goes to lie down on the blanket that serves as his bed.

I stare at him. "Groove, what did you do to my dog?"

He shoots me a glance over mrs. Stepanyan's covered dish. "Do to him?"

"Yeah," I nod. "He's listening. You must have done something to him."

He grins and wiggles his fingers. "Magic touch."

"Groove prefers animals to people sometimes, and the feeling's mutual," First Aid explains, chuckling a bit.

"What can I say, I just come across as a pack leader." Groove puts a plate on the table in front of me. "Dinner's served. This lady can cook, am I right?"

"She's a lifesaver," I agree, leaning forward to snatch the fork out of Groove's hands. "She's the only reason I've been eating hot dinners this week."

First Aid's frowning again. I can tell from how his hand moves on my stomach.

"Isobel," he begins, tentatively. Like he knows I won't be too happy to hear what he's going to say. "Are you sure you're okay to be staying here alone?"

"Don't baby her, Aid," Groove mutters, as if this is simply the continuation of an old argument.

"I'm not," First Aid says, and now he sounds annoyed. "I'm not babying her." The arms tighten around me possessively. "I just…"

"You just worry," Groove replies, "and I can understand that. But she's as safe here as she is anywhere. And you hovering over her isn't going to help her get over anything."

"I'm sitting right here, you know," I say sharply. "Stop talking about me like I'm a child to be directed."

Groove nods. "My point exactly."

"You shut up, too," I say, pointing my fork at him. "Much as I love the both of you, none of you gets to decide what's best for me. Only I get to do that."

I stare at Groove until he looks away.

"So is it best for you to stay here?" First Aid asks softly. His hands are almost hesitant on my waist.

I nod. "I think it is. I have to learn to function in society again, you know, and sometimes the best way to do that is to get back into things. I'm doing… Okay, I won't lie and say I'm doing good, but I'm doing okay enough. I'm better. I get to talk to normal people about normal things like the weather and rush hour traffic and football scores. Not that I know a lot about that last one."

Groove snorts.

"My point is," I continue, gesticulating with my fork, "that this is probably good for me. Am I still having problems? Yeah, sure I am. I don't sleep well, I probably don't eat enough, I'm still having problems with my leg and it turns out I can't handle the subway. Or the pedestrian tunnels. Or the fast food places. But it gets better. I promise." I twist to look at First Aid. "You have to let me stay here."

He lifts his hand, touches my panic bracelet gently. I never take it off. "It goes against every instinct I have," he says softly. "Letting you stay here alone, leaving you behind. I should be protecting you, taking care of you."

"I love that you think that," I reply, leaning back against his chest. "But you still don't get to decide for me. That's my job as a functional adult." I swallow another mouthful of food. "Doesn't mean I'm not thrilled you're here, though. How long can you stay?"

They seem to accept the change in topic. "For the weekend," Groove replies. "Aid's all yours, but I have some things to take care of for the next few days, so I'll be coming and going a bit. Prime wanted me to scout out some warehouses with suspicious activity."

"You'll be careful, right?" I ask as I scoop up the last of the food in the bowl. Huh. I hadn't noticed I was that hungry.

"I'm always careful, Belle," he smirks.

I jab at him with the handle of my fork. "Don't call me that."

First Aid laughs and kisses my neck.

* * *

Groove elects to dispense with his holoform for the night and recharge in his alt mode. Benji looks nothing short of flabbergasted as his new best friend melts away in front of him, and I have to spend a few minutes cuddling him to get him to calm back down.

"Groove says he's sorry," First Aid says, crouching down behind me as Benji finally settles.

"Silly Groove," I coo, watching the black tail wagging. "Didn't think you'd notice he was missing, did he?"

"Is he okay?" Aid reaches out and gently scratches Benji behind one ear.

"He'll be fine, won't you, pops? There's my good boy." I reach out to First Aid. "Give me a hand up. There's an aspect of this apartment I haven't shown you yet."

He pulls me to my feet easily. "Lead the way."

I keep his hand and lead him back past the spare and main bedroom towards the smallish bathroom.

"Voilá," I say grandly, pushing the door open. "The bathroom."

"Okay," First Aid says, following me inside. It's just big enough that we can both get in there together. "This is… nice enough. Was this what you wanted to show me?"

I turn towards him with a smirk and tug my shirt up over my head. "Not exactly. You see…" Then I open the button of my pants.

First Aid is staring at me.

"… the original owner did something fancy to this room. She was like me in a way." The zipper follows, and First Aid nibbles his lip. "She apparently didn't think a shower is big enough," I shimmy the shorts off, smirking at him, "unless it can fit two people at once. So what do you say, lover mine?" I reach back behind me to unclasp the bra. "Want to test it out?"

First Aid's eating me up with his eyes. His look's enough to get my breathing to speed up as I slowly pull my underwear off.

"Primus, Isobel," he whispers hoarsely. "You're gorgeous."

"Is that a yes, then?" I tease. "Or are you going to leave a poor girl to wash her own back?"

His clothing vanishes in a cloud of blue sparks. "What kind of fiancée would I be if I left you to your own devices like that?"

"A fairly foolish one," I purr, taking a step back and pushing the shower wall aside.

"Exactly," he responds, in the same gut-tightening tones. He steps after me, sliding the door shut. I turn the water on, letting it run down the wall until it's hot.

As soon as I let go of the shower head, he's on me. I'm pushed up against the wall with First Aid's mouth on my neck, nibbling and sucking and licking, and I can't do much else but hold on with my arms around his shoulders.

"I would think that it was sloppy planning, having a shower that's bigger than the rest of the bathroom," First Aid murmurs, nipping at my ear lobe, "but I see her point now." His hands slide down my hips and thighs, and then he bends down slightly, hands slipping beneath my thighs until he can hike me up and lean me against the wall. "It would be hard to do this in a regular shower."

I don't get a chance to reply before his mouth is on mine. He's greedy, insistent, teasing my mouth open, and I still can't do anything but hang on.

It's divine. Especially as First Aid shifts me, taking my weight with just one hand – and oh, I love the strength of his holoform – while the other travels up my body again, tracing my waist and ribs. And when he breaks the kiss and his mouth moves down to my neck again, I can't do anything but gasp.

"First Aid…!"

"I know, love," he croons, his hand wandering down between my legs. "Pit, I missed you so much. I missed your smile, and your laughter, and how soft your skin is, and how you tremble when I taste you right here –" his tongue traces my collar bone, and I shiver on cue " – and how hot you are beneath me, how tight." His finger traces me, teasing touches to my clit. I can _feel_ how wet I am for him.

"First Aid," I repeat, almost keening now. "Damn it, Aid, stop teasing me."

He growls. "As you wish, Isobel."

And then he sinks into me, lowering me onto him, and it feels _amazing_.

First Aid groans, pressing his face against my shoulder. "You feel so slagging good, love. It's been too long."

"Then stop talking and move, damn you," I gasp, my good leg curling around his hip.

He looks at me and grins ferally. "Oh, you got it."

I should have known that that expression meant trouble. But I barely have time to react before he begins moving, hard, strong thrusts into me while keeping me perfectly balanced against the wall, and it's both too much and not enough, and I'm barely coherent as I cling to him with everything I've got, just taking, absorbing.

"In case you didn't notice," First Aid breathes, boldly licking my throat, "I missed you."

"Did – notice that," I pant. My brain isn't working right, it's all I can do to try and join in the banter. "You don't talk this much – normally – in this kind of situation."

"I've been imagining everything I wanted to do to you," First Aid rasps, speeding up. "How I wanted you. Where. How often."

"Sex-crazed Protectobot," I manage, tightening my hold on his neck.

"Just for you," he pants, and at this point I'm little more than a doll being fucked through the wall, I have no leverage on him, I'm locked in place and oh my God, it is _fantastic._

First Aid shifts his grip on me, takes hold of both my legs again. He lowers his head until his mouth is at my neck again. "I'm going to show you the stars, Isobel," he murmurs. And then he speeds up.

Stars indeed.

* * *

_First Aid is insatiable. After showering – which we did also do, we didn't just take advantage of the space in different ways – he brought me to bed, where epic, slow lovemaking happened._

_Heh. Never thought I'd use that word. Strangely enough, though, it's the only word that fits._

_Oh, and this morning. Good thing I wasn't going anywhere today, because we would not have made any deadlines. Not that I minded much._

_Who can object to that kind of treatment from a hot holoform?_

_Still, it was nice to have the shower to myself afterwards. And take Benji for a walk while First Aid checked in with Groove. He threw a bit of a hissy fit when I said I could go by myself. He doesn't have the best range to his holoform, and it would be really weird to be tracked by an ambulance the whole way. First Aid's hissy fits mainly consists of big worried eyes and a nibbled lower lip, though, and he's so cute that it should be illegal, but after some discussion back and forth he did acquiesce to it. Which is good, because Benji needed out, so I would have left anyway._

_It was extra nice to come back home when someone was there waiting for me. I've missed that. It was one of the few good things after my abduction, someone was always around._

_But guess what? It's gotten a lot easier to be alone again, too._

_I think I'll be okay here. I just have to convince my Protectobot of that._

* * *

"Holy crap, you're unstoppable," I groan, rolling off as First Aid releases me.

He chuckles lightly. "I only have three days. I have to make the most of it. Are you complaining?"

I shake my head as I snuggle up to him. "Not complaining, no. You're making it hard to let you go, though."

"I know exactly what you mean, love." His arms tighten around me. "Shame we can't set up a base here. Hot Spot even asked, but Optimus said no. He said he didn't have a choice – he couldn't risk us out here by ourselves permanently, and he definitely didn't want to risk us drawing the wrong type of attention to a base in the middle of a city with millions of civilian inhabitants."

Oh yeah. Because there's still a war on. Another thing I don't have to consider while living here by myself.

"I can understand that," I reply. Something tells me the Protectobots weren't happy with that, not by a long shot, but I get where Optimus is coming from.

The Protectobots' time as my babysitters has come to an end. I'm on my own now. But I know they'll come if I need them. The blue crystal on my wrist is testament to that.

"It's okay," I murmur, burrowing into his side. "I get it."

"I love you, Isobel," he whispers, and I can feel him kissing my hair. Then he laughs again, a low, quiet sound that sends shivers down my spine and heat straight to my lower stomach, no matter the exercise he just put me through. "You know, your neighbor cornered me today when I returned her dish. She wondered if we'd set a date."

"Oh?" I giggle. "What did you tell her?"

"I said that we haven't gotten that far yet, and that we're in no hurry. Oh, and we've been engaged since just before Christmas, by the way. I asked you to marry me after my family Christmas party, which we celebrated at Hot Spot's place, only she thinks his name is Hank. And the ring I got you was my mother's. My brothers were kind enough to let me have it, since I'm the only one of us in a serious relationship right now. Our parents are both dead too, but we have relatives out on the army base. So we usually have big Christmas parties. And you fit right in, even my grouchy old uncle Ratchet likes you. Apparently she's met him, but she thought he was a charmer. She did wonder at his name, though. And Groove's. I told her my family had never quite left the hippie mentality behind."

I laugh at that, loudly enough that I can hear Benji reacting in the living room. "She must have cornered you for quite a while."

"She's a sweet lady." He kisses my hair again. "I'm glad you have a neighbor that takes care of you. Makes it somewhat easier to think about leaving again."

"You aren't going that far this time, at least," I point out. "What is it, an hour's drive? Tops?"

"I have sirens," he says, and now he sounds smug. "I can make it in half that time."

"You guys are all the same," I giggle. "You all want to go fast. You should have heard Jazz and Sideswipe as we started out towards San Francisco. I thought Prowl would have a stroke or something, he kept ranting at Jazz over comms." I snort. "Not that that helped. Jazz was all 'oh, but sweetspark' and 'Prowler, ya know I love yah' and 'I just gotta test the road'. Sideswipe was laughing so badly he could barely stay within his lane."

"They're speedsters, they're a bit worse than me," First Aid says, but he's laughing too. "And don't let Prowl fool you. He likes going fast as much as Jazz does. The chases they got up to back on Cybertron are legendary."

"They did tell me some of how they met." I grin. "Prowl the Enforcer and Meister the – well, the sneak, I suppose."

"He hasn't stopped being sneaky," First Aid replies, still chuckling.

"No, he hasn't." I twist to lie on my back, stare up at the ceiling. "They're perfect together."

"They are." His arm tightens around me.

We lie like that in companionable silence for a while. It's very comfortable – feels like home.

First Aid lifts his hand and begins playing with my hair. "So what are your plans for next week?" he asks, and I can tell he's just trying to make conversation.

"Next week will be tough," I admit. "Vale's trial begins on Wednesday."

He twists until he's above me, leaning on his elbow. "Want me to take you? I can trade shifts?"

"It's nice of you, but no," I reply, continuing quickly before his face falls too far. "Bumblebee's picking me up. He's taking Parker too, and he thinks she needs my support."

"She probably does," First Aid replies. "That's kind of you."

"It's going to be hard for her to get through her testimony," I sigh. "I hope she can manage."

"What about you?"

I turn my head to look at him. "What about me?"

"Won't it be hard for you to testify as well? I know it's not the worst thing that's happened to you this year," and he winces at that, "but it was bad enough."

I shake my head. "I'm not testifying. The case was solid without me, so we decided to strike me from the case."

"Why?" He frowns, and it's adorable. So I pull him down again and snuggle in beneath his chin, content to be there.

"Because there was no way for me to testify without revealing the Autobots," I reply. "I can't explain him locking the door and then two people just appearing in the room with no evidence of forced entry. It could have hurt the case, even. So the decision was made that I would be removed as an accuser and just be on hand as Parker's psychologist."

"That's… That's unfair." First Aid sounds frustrated. "You have just as much right to justice as the rest of them."

"Are you saying that it won't be justice if I'm not part of the case?" I ask, moving to look at him again. He looks as frustrated as he sounded. "Because I'm fairly sure that I'll feel plenty vindicated if he's put away, even if it wasn't on my testimony."

He frowns for another moment, then his forehead smooths out. "You're right. Of course you're right." He kisses my forehead. "I just want him to rot for what he did."

"Parker will make sure of that," I say with certainty. "There's no way he'll go free, not at those charges."

"Yes, Streetwise said so too. I trust you two, but I won't be sure until I see it for myself."

I nod, put my head on his chest. "I know what you mean."

First Aid's a fairly hard pillow, though not as hard as in root mode, but I wouldn't change it. I can feel his warmth, the holoform vibrations, his hand absentmindedly stroking my hair.

It's heaven.

And I'm getting really drowsy.

"Sleep, love," he murmurs, as if he can tell. He probably can. "I'm not going anywhere." And then he begins humming, a low little melody half on-key half off, perfect in its simplicity. I still need the music to fall asleep easily, often leaving it on all night, but this is much more soothing. I'm kept safe between First Aid's spark and his petting hands, and despite his truthfully imperfect singing voice, it's just right.

* * *

"Well, bye for now, Ben boy," Groove says, bending down to scratch behind floppy black ears. "Take good care of your mistress for us, huh? She's fragile."

I snort. "I'm not that bad."

First Aid's hands cradle my face, and he presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. "You're more fragile than I like to think about."

"Well, then, you take care, too," I shoot back at him. "I'm not the one pulling people out of landslides."

"We're done with landslides for now," Groove says, smiling easily as he tries to get the schnauzer head out from between his knees. Benji's apparently decided that the way to keep Groove put is to cuddle him flat. "It's all base life for the foreseeable future."

I walk First Aid over to his ambulance alt mode. It feels strangely normal, human, doing this. There are couples in this city that do this every week. And for a moment I'm not the broken military therapist sending off two alien allies, I'm the woman seeing her fiancée off when he has to go back to work.

The illusion is nice. It breaks when I feel the hot metal of First Aid's alt mode under my hand.

"Call me?" I say softly. He pulls me tight and kisses me again.

"Often enough that you'll get sick of me."

"Not possible," I murmur, chasing that mouth again.

"Careful," he replies, a touch of humor in his voice, "or I might just not leave. You know I don't want to."

"I know," I agree, and then I finally catch up to those tempting lips. First Aid pulls me close, I throw my arms around his neck, fingers trailing his long ponytail, and First Aid backs up and leans against the side of the ambulance.

I can hear someone wolf whistling, and Groove is giggling.

"We're making a scene," I murmur, smiling against First Aid's lips.

"Good," he murmurs back. "Then they all know you're mine."

I giggle. "Or that you're mine."

"Oh, Primus," Groove says, and he sounds a little breathless. Exasperation, I guess. "You're both adorable, and yes, we know who you belong to, but Spot's already pinging me and Ratchet's getting impatient. Plus, I'm covered in dog hair. So can we please just go already."

I smirk up at my Protectobot. "You know… The sooner you leave, the sooner you can come back."

A quirked eyebrow. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

I lean in to kiss him again. "Just come back," I whisper.

"As soon as I can."

One last kiss, another nip to my nose, fingers stroking my cheek, neck, shoulders, sliding down to my hands, and then he steps back and into the car. And I already miss him.

"Stay safe," he says, clearly hesitant to leave. Groove revs his engine impatiently behind me.

"You too," I reply, clinging tightly to Benji's leather leash as if it was a lifeline.

We stare at each other for a moment more. Then he rolls up the window, turn on his indicator light, and starts edging into the street.

Soon after, he turns the corner at the end of the street and is gone.

I draw a deep, shaky breath. "Come on, boy. Let's go for a walk."

* * *

_I miss First Aid like crazy, even though it's just twenty-four hours since he left. But I'm doing better._

_I've learned four more students' names. And today I managed to find my way to the campus bookshop unaccompanied. I even had one student ask me informed questions after my lecture._

_Benji and I found a dog park I hadn't known about. The big lug enjoys running off the leash, but we have some way to go yet before he comes when he's called and not five minutes later. At least he's friendly, and careful, and happy. And dog owners, it turns out, are a very social lot. I talk to more people at the park than I do in total elsewhere – even though we mostly talk about our dogs._

_It's nice to be social again._

_I had to ask for time off for the trial. I said I was on call as a consulting specialist, which isn't too far off the mark. Luckily, the dean was amenable to it – he was more than a little upset on Parker's behalf when I told him about the case. Of course, he also suggested I take notes and make a lecture out of it, since it ties up well with both what I'm teaching and the classes I'm following._

_I don't know. It feels too up close and personal for me to do that. There are probably some elements I can draw on, but we have to wait and see._

_Plus, I can't use Parker as an example – even an anonymous one – without asking her, and somehow I doubt she'd agree._

_Ugh. I'm not looking forward to tomorrow._

* * *

I've just managed to put my daily half-bag of groceries away – First Aid and Groove managed to stockpile most of what I need, but somehow the orange juice and ice cream ran out – when there's a knock on my door.

It's not a Stepanyan-knock. Mrs. Stepanyan knocks the way I imagine Molly Weasley would knock, eagerly and fast. This is more a Fred and George-knock – cheerful and confident.

I don't know anyone who knocks like that.

"Benji, stay," I command as I walk over to the door. I'm all nervous and worried again, I can feel my hands trembling. It's probably for nothing – I mean, the front door's locked – but it feels real. Benji picks up on it too, a low growl starting in his throat.

"Who is it?" I call, proud that my voice is as calm as it is.

"The United States Army, ma'am," a male voice calls back.

A male voice I know.

Suddenly the nerves melt away, and I grin as I open the door. "Colonel Lennox! So nice to see you!"

I step aside to let the grinning man into the apartment. Benji barks once, as if to let Lennox know he's there, and then he settles down on his blanket.

Maybe he's a better guard dog than I thought.

"Just Will's fine," Lennox grins, walking inside. "How're you doing, Isobel? Nice place! This must be Benji, huh?" He squats down to offer ear scratches, and Benji's tail hits the floor repeatedly. "Yeah, you like that, don't you?"

He's got so much energy it's infectious. I giggle as I walk into my tiny kitchen corner to put the coffee on. "So what brings you down?"

"It's mostly a social visit," he replies, standing up. Benji whines. "Later, boy. Got to talk to your owner for a sec." Lennox turns and walks towards where I'm standing. "But there's also some unpleasant and in my opinion unnecessary army business, so let's get that out of the way first, okay?" He stops in front of me and winks. "You ready?"

I nod, mirroring his pose as he stands at attention. Then he puts on a stern frown, and it's so clearly a mask that it's all I can do to not start giggling.

"Doctor Isobel Harrington," he begins, in strict, clipped tones. "On behalf of the United States Armed Forces, Naval Forces and Air Forces, and all affiliated sectors, you are hereby reminded that the confidentiality agreement you signed upon entrance into a business arrangement with any or all of the named parts and/or sectors remains valid and in place until it is waived by said parts and/or sectors. You are not at liberty to speak, share or otherwise reveal information you were privy to during your tenure with said parts and/or sectors unless given express permission by said parts and/or sectors to do so. Failure to comply with the confidentiality agreement will result in prosecution on charge of treason."

Then, as if he's turned off a recording, he relaxes and grins. And I can finally stop trying to laugh out loud at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

"Consider yourself warned." Lennox winks again.

"They really sent you here to tell me that?" I giggle so hard my face hurts.

"Standard procedure," he replies, smiling easily and pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I snagged the assignment from one of the ensigns. And to make up for the whole thing, I brought you this." He pulls a white envelope from his pocket with a flourish.

"Thanks. You didn't have to, you know. I can take the lecture without a consolation prize afterwards." Still, I open the envelope eagerly and pull out a formal-looking letter.

"It's a letter of recommendation," Lennox explains. "For whatever you want to do next. Thought it might help."

"This is brilliant," I grin. The letter's very formal, but there's no doubt that I'm being praised. "This will definitely come in useful."

"Good," he smiles back. "So how're you doing?"

"Better," I admit, sipping from my own cup. "Better every day. D'you know, I'm starting to think leaving the base was a good idea. It's easier to get over the crazy when huge reminders of it aren't staring me in the face every day."

"Tell me about it." He snorts. "After our first encounter with the 'Cons, I had nightmares until we'd managed to dump the remains into the Trench. Even though they were dead frames lying there, I couldn't relax until they were gone."

I frown. I'd known that's what they did to the dead Cybertronians, but it doesn't sit easy with me.

"It's good you're doing okay with it, though," Lennox continues. "Prime's been working with us to get you back, but it doesn't look very likely."

"It's okay," I reply. "As long as I have my comm phone and the 'Bots are allowed to come visit me, it'll be fine."

"What Cadock doesn't know won't hurt him," Lennox chuckles. "Optimus has the final say on where the Autobots go and what they do. As long as none of them cause a scene in the city they're allowed to come and go as he directs. Optimus has the higher-ups fooled on some kind of Decepticon tracking ability that all Autobots have, and that can't be duplicated. It's pure b-s, of course, but it serves as an excuse."

I snort. "If the military knew half of what the Cybertronians can actually do, we'd be at DEFCON four."

That has Lennox laughing. "Probably. I'd keep quiet about that, though, if I were you. Don't want to scare the natives." He walks around the counter to put his empty cup in my sink. "Speaking of natives, I got a tip about a great burger place in a park not far from here. Want to go get something to eat? We can bring the pooch?"

"Sure," I agree. It sounds more tempting than I thought it would, especially considering that my knee still aches from the walking I did to university and back. I guess it's the company. Eating burgers in the park with Lennox sounds way more tempting than eating cereal in here by myself.

"Great!" He grins, and then whistles sharply. "Benji! Come!"

I watch in astonishment as my dog, my by now famously unreliable, scatterbrained, selectively deaf fur ball, pretty much bounces to his feet and comes running, sitting down promptly in front of Lennox's feet and staring up at him.

"Everyone can handle my dog but me," I grumble as Lennox attaches the lead.

"Grew up with these guys," Lennox explains, as Benji gets his beloved ear scratches. "Guess I still have it. Come on, boy."

I follow the two of them outside, letting them take the stairs while I take the elevator, and walking behind them as they head down the front steps. Once on the street Lennox pulls back to walk next to me, letting Benji have the lead so he can run along at the edge of the sidewalk in typical dog manner.

"So the restaurant is down this way a couple of blocks," Lennox says conversationally, "and then through the pedestrian tunnel under the highway. It's one of those long tunnels, but it's supposed to be well-lit. Of course, it's also possible to take the scenic route and use the bridge. It's longer, but I understand you can see quite far from there."

I smile and shake my head. "I know what you're doing. Is it up to me?"

"Completely," he assures me, rubbing my back briefly. "Your decision."

"I don't do well with enclosed underground spaces," I explain softly. "Like subways. Basement shops." I shoot him a glance. "Pedestrian tunnels."

"The bridge it is, then," Lennox agrees, taking a left at the next street corner. "You know, I had a man in my crew once. Real pleasant fellow. From Minnesota somewhere. I think he was a farmer. Anyway, he got taken down by insurgents as we tried to secure a small town. They got him just as he entered the kitchen in the local boss's house. Now, he managed to get them too, somehow – superior firepower lets you do that kind of thing – but he was stuck there waiting for us to get him out, and that took a while. He was stuck in that kitchen for hours, hiding behind the refrigerator and trying to stop himself from bleeding out." He glances at me. "It took him years to become comfortable in a kitchen again. He still orders takeout more often than not."

I shudder. "Can't handle those, either. Takeout, I mean."

"No, yeah, I guess I can understand that." Thankfully, he then changes the subject. I have no desire to regale him with the tales of all the things I can't handle at the moment. Not with the prospect of a night alone. Not with the trial coming up tomorrow. "So how's teaching treating you? Are the students all airheads, or is there actually hope for them?"

More grateful than I know how to express, I launch into university life story mode. Surprisingly enough, I enjoy telling him about everything. It's nice to be able to talk about something mundane.

* * *

_Lennox is pleasant company. He's easy to talk to, and he gets it. I didn't have to explain anything to him, he didn't push me on trying things I weren't comfortable with – except the burger place's chili sauce, which he was totally right about – and most importantly, he didn't pry. If I shied away from a topic, he started talking about something else._

_Which is how I now know a whole lot more about his daughter than I'd ever anticipated finding out. Turns out the colonel is like any parent: when short of something to talk about, they default to their kids._

_It was kind of adorable._

_Lennox has moved bases on the rest of the NEST guys, so they're all at Edwards base with the Autobots. That's a good thing, though I can't help wishing that they'd done it earlier. Then I could have practiced some more with Sean._

_Not that the higher-ups would have let me._

_The Autobots are doing fine, Lennox said. Optimus has been talking about setting up sessions for me with the ones that need it, setting up a secure location somewhere, but it seems that he's still mainly focused on getting me back. Which, based on what Lennox said, isn't going to be happening._

_I'd like to have some sessions with them, though. I know I left a few of them midway through healing, like Mirage and Skyfire, and several more of them would benefit from it. Maybe I should give Ratchet a call, see if he could set it up. Because I think it's fairly certain that I won't be able to come back. The army won't rehire me. Right now, I couldn't do that work anyway – working with soldiers with active PTSD wouldn't help me much. Helping the Autobots deal with grief and heartache – or sparkache, I guess – and loss, it's simpler. I'd like to get the chance to do that again._

_But no out at the base. I won't be reinstated there, no matter what Optimus says._

_At this point, I'm not even sure that doing so would be a good idea. I've been healing a lot faster down here by myself than up there, surrounded by Autobots. Guess there's something to be said for a fresh start._

_I should sleep. Tomorrow's going to be hell as it is. At least I'm fairly sure Vale's going to be locked away for a long, long, long time._

_And Parker and I are going to celebrate with the wildest party this side of Las Vegas._


	35. The end of the world as we know it

"You sure I shouldn't walk you in?" Bumblebee asks, twisting in the front seat to look back at me.

"I'm sure," I reply. "It's just up the steps, and Benji's waiting for me inside. Besides, she needs you." I look down at Parker, sleeping in the seat next to me. "It's been a long, trying day for her."

"For you, too," Bee points out. "I feel bad, leaving you alone like this."

"Don't worry about me," I reply, smiling at him. He really is the most adorable Autobot. "I've had training to handle this kind of thing. She hasn't. She's going to need you, Bee."

"She's my friend," he replies simply. "Of course I'll be there for her. I just wish someone was there for you, too."

"Someone is," I reply easily. "He's got four legs and a tail and offers the most unconditional love I've ever encountered."

Bumblebee laughs as the back door opens for me. "Well, you can't ask more than that. Call one of us if you need to, okay?"

"Okay," I agree, climbing out. I'd agree to pretty much anything to get him to let me go at this point. "Take care, Bee."

"You too, Isobel."

The car door shuts behind me, and he drives off.

I turn around and head inside as fast as I can. The elevator is too slow for me today, and the only reason I manage to convince myself that it'll do is because I know how much pain I'll be in if I take the stairs.

There's no sign of mrs. Stepanyan, and for once I'm grateful, even though I owe her thanks for taking Benji out for me today. I just can't handle her cheerfulness right now. My hands are trembling as I unlock the door, and I dart inside as soon as I've got it open.

The relief when I shut the door behind me is immediate. The warmth of Benji's body pressing against my legs is also reassuring.

"Hey, boy," I murmur. "I've had the most shitty day you can imagine."

Brown eyes look up at me.

"You should be glad you're not human," I complain as I push away from the door. "Because human beings suck."'

Today calls for ice cream, a thick blanket, something reassuring on TV and Benji in the couch across my legs. Sometimes I think he believes he's a Yorkie or something, he's always climbing into my lap.

He walks at my heels as I get a tub of chocolatey goodness, my comm phone, the remotes, and the blanket, and then stands there looking pleadingly at me as I make myself comfortable in the couch.

"Okay, pops," I agree. "Up you get."

As Benji settles across my leg, trying to make himself comfortable, I find a brainless rom-com and let my mind wander.

"You know," I say conversationally, "he's not going to walk. He's not. But he's so damn arrogant, so horrible, so unrepentant, that I kind of wish the 'Bots had taken him down completely. Parker was crying on the stand, and he was just looking bored. Bored! If I had my acid gun, I would have shot him!"

Benji just shifts in my lap.

"Worthless piece of slag man," I grumble. "At least the case is watertight."

It seems to be, anyway. Parker's the main witness, but she's not the only one. There are fourteen victims testifying in total. Four doctors, three psychiatrists. Seventeen other army personnel, including Parker's immediate superior. Catherine's testifying, too, as the SARC of the base Vale was stationed on. And then an endless supply of friends, co-workers, family members, a couple of nurses and assistants that had been stationed under Vale previously.

The prosecutor's built a good case. Hopefully it's enough. I want to see this guy locked away.

Benji burrows under my arm until he's across my body with his head on my chest. I hug him gratefully, letting my hands warm up in the coarse fur.

Cuddle dog.

It's a good way to spend the evening. I slowly relax under my extra heavy, extra warm blanket. And when the ice cream's gone and the movie is halfway done, I can feel myself drifting off.

I don't fight it.

* * *

When I wake up, it's dark outside. The movie's long over, Benji's abandoned me for his own bed, and I'm more than a little disoriented as I try to figure out what it was that woke me. A glance at my watch shows that it's not that late – I've slept away most of the early evening, but it's not even my normal bedtime yet.

There's a knock on the door. One of mrs. Stepanyan's light, hesitant knocks, the one she uses when she's worried about disturbing me. It's probably what woke me.

I manage to extricate myself from the blanket and get to my feet.

"Coming," I call, still partly asleep as I stumble towards the front door. I unlock it, though it takes me a few tries, and pull at the door handle. "Hey, I wanted to thank you for handling Benji today, you're a real life-… saver…." My words taper off as my mouth finally catches up to my brain, and I stare.

Because it's not mrs. Stepanyan outside the door.

It's a stranger.

He's got dark hair, slicked back under a navy fedora, dark eyes behind yellowish sunglasses. His suit is pinstriped and impeccable. And he's grinning at me.

I don't like it. He makes me nervous. "Can I help you?"

"Well, maybe you can at that," he replies, winking at me. "But I didn't come to ask you anything this time, sweet-cheeks."

No.

NO.

No, it can't be. It _can't_. My heart's in my throat, I can't breathe properly. It doesn't make sense.

 _Swindle_ can't be here!

But he is. And as he moves towards me, I can't help but back away, unknowingly letting him into the apartment. My right hand's at my left wrist, pushing the blue crystal frantically.

"Nice place," Swindle says, looking around appreciatively. "Very you. Lacking a certain something, though. I can make you a good deal on some great art, what do you say? You seem like a pop art girl to me." He spins in a slow circle, looking at every part of my living room. "A Britto over there, Thiebaud or Taylor there… We could brighten this place up. Just say the word, sweet-cheeks, and I'll make you a sweet deal."

I wish Benji would wake up. I wish I _hadn't_ woken up. I really, really, _really_ wish the Protectobots were here.

Swindle turns to look at me. "Relax, sweet-cheeks," he smirks. "Ain't gonna hurt you. Stop looking like a deer in the headlights. Or whatever it is you humans say."

I swallow. It doesn't help much. My mouth is dry, I'm almost hyperventilating, I can feel my palms slickening up. "Why are you here," I manage, and I know it's a desperate bid for time.

"I was in the neighborhood," he replies easily, walking over to my bookshelf and examining the titles. "Onslaught sent me with Brawl to make sure he stayed on target. You wouldn't believe how much trouble a tank can get up to in L.A." He picks up my Serenity model and snorts. "This would never fly. Anyway, I was looking up some contacts while I was here, and your name came up. Couldn't resist the temptation to drop in, see how you were doing." He winks. "You seem to be doing okay."

"Get out of my house," I whisper, though there's no volume to it at all.

"Oh, quite soon," he agrees easily. "As I said, sweet-cheeks, I'm not here to hurt you. I just came by to say hi. And to tell you that some big things are going down, and everything's going to change drastically. So you better be prepared to hold on for the ride."

"What things?" I ask, pressing my button again for good measure.

"Oh, big ones," he replies loftily, vaguely. "You'll find out soon enough, I think. Even if you're not with the Autobots anymore. I doubt they've let you go completely, am I right?" He nods towards my hands. "That why you're pushing that button for dear life, Isobel?" He puts the model back with a smirk. "It won't help, you know. I'll be gone before they get here." Then he winks at me, and I shiver. "Although, if you want me to stay, I just might. There were things I didn't get to try out when I had you last time."

"No!" I shout, and it's enough to drag Benji awake. To his credit, he bounces to his feet instantly and runs to my side. Which is good, because I doubt Swindle would have any qualms about killing a dog.

"Relax, I already said I won't hurt you. I'm not Vortex, to force his way where he's not wanted. Nice mutt," he comments lazily, picking up another model. A TIE fighter, this time. "Honestly, you humans think up the strangest things. Oh, Brawl wants me to say hi, by the way. He doesn't quite get why we had to come here, but he's happy enough as long as he gets to roll around and destroy things. He was more than a little disappointed that there were no Autobots here."

My terror spikes and Benji must have noticed, because now he's growling, and I only just manage to take hold of his collar before he throws himself at Swindle. The holoform – and how it freaks me out to realize that the Decepticons have them as well – doesn't even bother looking at him.

"Well, Onslaught's pinging me, so I guess we're ready for the next step of the plan," Swindle continues, putting the TIE fighter back. "I gotta go rein in Brawl as he creates chaos. Be seeing you, Isobel. Don't forget. Big things. Big changes." He winks at me. "You better brace yourself. That's all I came to say. Bye, pooch."

Then he fades away.

It takes ages before I breathe again. Benji's still at my feet, hackles raised, growling.

"Easy, boy," I whisper. "He's gone. I think."

Slowly, carefully, I make my way to the couch and sit down. I feel like every muscle and bone in my body has turned to jelly. Benji takes up position in front of me, staring at the door, still with that growl deep in his chest.

I just stare. I can tell my eyes are wide, my heart's beating faster than it ever has, and my breathing still hasn't settled.

I feel strangely detached, though. Like my mind's just watching my body go through these things. It reminds me of when they told me Laserbeak would have killed me last fall.

I'm freaking out, and as a result my mind is nearly clinical. And distant. I'm not present in my body properly.

Then I'm snapped out of it, sharply, by the sound of very familiar sirens.

I look around for the holoforms, because surely they'll be appearing in my apartment any moment now, right? I can hear First Aid, and I can hear Streetwise and Hot Spot, and though they're still distant, they should be getting close enough to project, shouldn't they?

Except they're not.

It takes my distant mind a moment to realize that the sound is coming from the TV. And when I do, I scramble for the remote to turn the sound up, moving so fast that Benji flinches and barks loudly.

It's the news. For some reason, the Protectobots are on the news.

 _"…_ _stopped traffic in both directions,"_ the reporter says, a female voice-over on a camera feed that looks like it's being filmed from a helicopter. _"As you can see, what looks like a, a missile truck is speeding down the SR14 northbound. We've been told that all entrance ramps are now blocked, as this thing is going – how fast is it going, Ed?"_

 _"_ _It's going at well over a hundred miles per hour, Grace,"_ another voice breaks in. The camera shifts, showing what seems to be a traffic camera. There's a military-looking truck barreling past on the road underneath. The shot slows down, and I can see the hint of purple against the navy plating.

 _"_ _By the looks of it, the police are aiming to control the traffic ahead of the vehicle instead of intercepting,"_ the male reporter continued. _"We can only assume that it's because an armored vehicle like this would destroy anything they put in its way. There is a – hang on."_ The camera breaks again, this time to a completely different scene. _"This is just in. We've received footage of what looks like – that looks like a tank, wreaking havoc at LAX, and there is just massive destruction, the police have nothing to set against this thing. Are you seeing what I'm seeing here?"_

Based on the footage shown, I'd say everyone's seeing what he's seeing. And this time there's no mistaking the Decepticon emblem on the tank armor. Brawl – because I guess it must be – is driving over cars, through fences, firing at parked planes and dark buildings. There's fire, and sirens, and panicked screaming and shouting.

But not my sirens. When they switched from the view of the highway, my sirens cut off.

 _"_ _I'm being told now that we've tried to get in touch with the US Army, but we've had no response as of yet,"_ the male reporter says. _"At the moment, we have no casualties confirmed, but the property damages are immense and must surely be in the millions of dollars range by now. Oh, wait, something's happening! The tank is changing direction!"_

 _"_ _Here too, Ed,"_ the woman says, and the camera switches again. I can hear familiar sirens, so much closer now. _"The truck is slowing, I repeat, it is slowing, but we have what looks like – is that a fire truck, coming down the northbound lane? That is a fire truck, I believe, though painted strangely, and it's followed by more emergency vehicles, and it seems now that – yes, the missile truck is turning around, heading back south, and let's hope the police has that way shut down as well or these vehicles will be headed right against oncoming traffic. I can't say I recognize the.."_

I tune out the reporter. Because I can see them now. Hot Spot in the lead, as the lady said, with Steetwise and First Aid right behind him and Groove weaving in between. Blades is above, keeping track, and suddenly five jets streak past above him. The Aerialbots, probably heading to the airport.

My comm phone rings. I pick it up with shaky fingers.

"H-hello?"

 _"_ _Isobel? Love, are you all right?"_

"I'm – I'm okay. Not hurt. Swindle was here."

 _"_ _We were coming to get you,"_ First Aid replies, and he sounds focused and deadly, more so than I've ever heard him. _"But we can't split up now, Onslaught may be meeting up with the rest of his gestalt and then we need Defensor to take him down. The Aerials are going to harry Brawl away from civilian targets."_

"O-okay," I whisper, still staring at the screen. The cameras are switching rapidly back and forth now.

 _"_ _Just hold tight, love. Blurr's coming for you. He'll be there shortly, and he's bringing you and Benji back to base. Something big is happening and we don't know what."_

"That's what Swindle said too," I reply. My voice is barely audible. "He said something big is happening."

 _"_ _Slaggit,"_ First Aid cursed, and the ambulance on the screen sped up. _"Vortex just arrived. Isobel, I have to go. Don't go outside until Blurr gets there."_

I just nod, not that he can see. My focus is on the screen, where Air Raid is doing low fly-bys over Brawl's position, firing at him.

It looks like a war scene.

The screen splits in two, and I can see the blue racer speed past the Protectobots as if they were standing still. The reporters are exclaiming something in surprise, but what it is doesn't register with me. It's not important.

My eyes are on the blue car, speeding towards me faster than any other land-bound vehicle on Earth can move.

The angle changes, and I watch Blades and Slingshot working together to harry a helicopter I don't recognize. They seem to be working it away from the highway, away from its teammate, and I realize that this is Vortex. Behind them, Hot Spot is pacing Onslaught, matching the breakneck speed, while the rest of the Protectobots try to hem him in.

I can see the crash coming. And I can't make myself look away.

When Onslaught barrels into Streetwise, sending the police car tumbling round and round through the air, I stop breathing. And then Groove changes his angle, driving in between Onslaught and the concrete rails that edge the highway, and everything seems to slow down as the missile truck swerves and crushes the motorcycle against the concrete.

Dark spots obscure my vision. I notice Hot Spot ramming Onslaught's side, Benji barking at me, and then I can't watch anymore. I barely register the fact that I seem to have slipped backwards onto the sofa, my breathing's so fast that it's ineffective, and I couldn't close my eyes if my life depended on it.

I can feel Benji trembling against my side, but I can't hear anything over the roaring in my ears. My mind is stuck on the one track:

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

No.

When a hand touches my arm, I scream. And suddenly the world jumps back into focus with a painful lurch, as Benji snarls and leaps up to bury his fangs in Blurr's arm.

* * *

"I'm-sorry-Isobel," Blurr says, and I can tell he's making an effort to speak slowly. "I-didn-t-think. I-didn't-mean-to-scare-you-like-that."

"It's okay," I reply, resisting the tugs on my hand. I think Blurr's trying to pull me out of my scared pile of bundled-up trembling human, but it's not working. My body seems to have frozen in place.

He tilts his head and looks at me. Then he looks at the TV, frowning at it hard enough that it should be cowering from shame in the corner. "As-usual-your-media-gets-stuff-wrong." The screen blackens as he turns it off, and I'm suddenly picked up and embraced. Blurr's left arm is as good as new. One of the benefits of being a holoform.

"The-news-showed-the-crash-huh," Blurr says. I can tell he's trying to make his tone soft and comforting, but it doesn't work. "Don't-be-scared-Isobel. They'll-be-fine. Hot Spot-is-more-worried-about-where-the-last-Combaticon-is-than-he-is-about-his-teammates,and-First-Aid-has-already-patched-them-up. They're-out-of-the-fight-but-they're-okay."

I just shake my head. I can't believe that. There was too much damage.

Blurr sighs and reaches for my comm phone. I watch as he puts in an unknown code and activates it.

"This-is-Pietro-watching-the-princess. Requesting-audio-only-access-to-active-comm-channel."

"Got it, Pietro," someone replies, and I realize it's Blaster. "Access coming up… now. Get the princess home safe."

My phone makes a crackling sound, and then voices fill my apartment. Blurr stands back up and hands me the phone.

"I'm-going-to-pack-you-a-bag-Isobel. Stay-here-and-listen."

It's not a hard order to follow.

 _"…_ _got him pinned here,"_ Silverbolt says. _"Even Swindle won't be getting out from there, I think. Good job, Skydive."_

 _"_ _Vortex is outbound,"_ Blades cuts in. _"I don't know what the crazy slagger is doing, but he's acting like this is all fun and games. It's all trick-flying."_

 _"_ _Prowl says to keep them separated until we know where Blast Off is, and why he isn't here, so sit on them for now,"_ Blaster relays. _"Good job, mechs."_

 _"_ _First Aid, what's your status?"_ That's Ratchet, but he doesn't sound overly stressed.

 _"_ _I've got Groove, he's the worst off,"_ my lover replies. _"ETA in five. He's stable, not critical, but the damage is extensive."_

 _"_ _Good. Slagging daredevil driving,"_ Ratchet grumbles, and I can feel the tension in my shoulders ease. _"Ironhide is on his way. Hot Spot, can you bring your brother in when 'Hide and the twins get there?"_

 _"_ _No problem,"_ Hot Spot replies, and I can feel the tight bands around my chest loosening as he speaks. He doesn't sound worried at all.

 _"_ _Blurr, what's your status?"_ Blaster again.

"I'm-at-her-place-packing-to-leave," my companion replies as he darts around my apartment so fast that it looks like he's teleporting from place to place. "Isobel-is-unhurt-I-think-but-terrified." He chuckles. "Her-dog-bit-me."

That causes a ripple of laughter across the comm channel, and I finally relax fully. Benji burrows in beneath my arm, and I scratch his ears in return.

"Thanks, pops," I whisper. "You're my good boy."

The dark tail, just high enough up to be a serious peril for anything left on the coffee table, is wagging fiercely under the attention.

"You were quite ready to fight for me, weren't you," I continue, leaning on him slightly and absorbing his heat. "You're my hero. Such a good boy."

I continue crooning to him, which strangely settles me as well, until Blurr darts back to stand in front of us with one of my bags over his shoulder.

"OkayIsobel," he smiles easily. Apparently he feels less of a need to moderate his speed now that I'm less freaked out. "I'I’vegotyourstuff.Ifyoubringhimwecanbeonourway."

I nod and gather the rest of my things, keeping a tight hold on my phone. There's still chatter on the open channel, and I've got half my focus on that and the other half on my things and my dog and locking my door.

"Isobel? What is wrong, _im sireli_?"

I mute the phone and turn to see mrs. Stepanyan, clearly in the process of unlocking her door and staring at me with a worried frown. "Your case today, it did not go well?"

Well, that's an excuse. I seize it eagerly. "It hit me harder than I expected. I'm going to stay with Aidan and his family for a while." I wave a hand, indicating Blurr. "This is my friend Pietro."

"Hi," Blurr says, smiling easily, and it's probably a good choice to say nothing more.

"I really appreciate you watching Benji for me today, mrs. Stepanyan," I say, offering her a smile. It doesn't feel genuine, and based on her expression it doesn't look genuine either.

"He is a good boy," she coos, looking down at him. "It is my pleasure to help. You go to your fiancée, tell him to take care of you. I will watch your home for you."

"Thank you," I reply, bending down to give her a hug. "You're the best neighbor."

"Isobel," Blurr says, nodding towards the stairs.

"Yeah," I reply, stepping away from my minute neighbor. "We should go. Come on, pops."

Blurr helps me down the stairs and outside, opening the car door for me and letting Benji into the pitiful excuse for a back seat.

I put my seat belt on and unmute the phone again.

 _"…_ _in custody,"_ Silverbolt says. _"He admits to visiting Isobel, but says he didn't hurt her."_

 _"_ _That matches Blurr's report,"_ someone new says, and it takes me a moment to realize that it's Red Alert. He sounds very professional and focused, I haven't heard him like that much. _"Silverbolt, can you bring him in?"_

 _"_ _Yes,"_ the Aerialbot replies. _"Consider him on his way."_

 _"_ _Vortex is finally down,"_ Blades grunts. _"Stasis-locked. Dumb fragger. Thanks for sending Wheeljack out."_

 _"_ _Brawl is threatening to back into the water,"_ Air Raid says, and he sounds disgusted. _"He wants us to bring Swindle to him, or he won't cooperate."_

 _"_ _I'm not sure that's a good idea,"_ Red Alert replies. _"Prowl?"_

 _"_ _The risk is negligible,"_ the second in command replies. _"We're sitting steady on Vortex and Onslaught, so Bruticus is out of play. All right, bring Swindle there. See if we can't bring Brawl in peacefully."_

 _"_ _Are we really takin' the entire gestalt into custody?"_ Ironhide asks, and even with the tinny quality of the phone audio I can tell he sounds doubtful.

 _"_ _No, we ain't,"_ Jazz replies, chuckling. _"We ain't seen Blast Off yet."_

 _"_ _Cut the chatter,"_ Red Alert snaps. _"Silverbolt, you have your orders."_

 _"_ _Yes, sir."_

Blurr gets in the car, but the holoform just leans back and relaxes. I think he's kept it active mainly to make it look like the car has a driver.

"I'vegotIsobel," he says, and it's his alt mode that's talking. "Headingforbasenow."

 _"_ _Good,"_ Red Alert replies, dual sound coming from both my phone and the car speakers. _"ETA?"_

"Oh,abouttenminutesbarringtraffic," Blurr replies, and his holoform is grinning.

 _"_ _Understood."_

Cautiously, I mute the audio on my phone and lean back, holding onto the seat with both hands.

Then we're off.

I'm pushed back into my seat by the sheer force of acceleration. Behind me, Benji's whining in response to the pressure on his body.

As soon as we hit the highway, Blurr's speed stabilizes, easing the pressure on us. I relax slightly, managing somehow to enjoy the ride and the thrill of going so fast. As we flash past a recognizable black truck and two sports cars escorting a missile truck, I can't help but laugh.

"Blurr, you're amazing!"

"Iaimtoplease," he grins, chuckling. "Butthisisnothing. Youshouldseemewheretherearenospeedlimits."

"It doesn't seem like you care that much about speed limits here," I point out, as we flash past a large semitrailer that looks very familiar.

"Thisroadhascurvesandpeopleonit," Blurr replies. "Ican'tgofullspeedhere."

I lean back in the seat, taking a moment to contemplate what it means that this isn't Blurr's full speed. It's weird, because I feel like we're flying. I have a hard time imagining that we could go any faster.

The ramps are apparently still blocked, because we don't pass anyone else. And soon I can see familiar building in the distance.

And then the comm channel, so quiet for the last few minutes, explodes again as Blurr's radio roars to life.

 _"_ _Slag, we've got incoming! Optimus, Ironhide, Hot Spot, Blurr, what's your ETA?"_ Blaster sounds frantic.

"Thirtyseconds," Blurr replies.

 _"_ _I'm ten minutes out,"_ Optimus says. _"Blades is coming in above me. What's the situation?"_

 _"_ _Half an hour,"_ Ironhide grumbles; he doesn't sound happy to be that far away. _"I can send the twins in ahead of me if needed."_

 _"_ _About fifteen minutes,"_ Hot Spot shoots in, almost on top of Ironhide. _"Not sure how much good I'll do with my gestalt split up like this."_

 _"_ _We've got incoming airborne,"_ Prowl replies tersely, and I duck my head as I hear jet engines overhead. Blurr barrels through the base gates at high speed, taking the corner on two wheels, aiming for one of the hangars.

We're just in time to see a dark jet soaring in low over the main runway. Just when I think he's about to crash, he pulls out of the dive. Several dark lumps fall from the jet to crash onto the runway.

Blurr swerves so suddenly that I'm thrown against the windshield. He doesn't stop moving sideways until we're safely behind a wall.

 _"_ _Stay back,"_ Prowl order calmly over comm. _"Wheeljack, are you far off?"_

 _"_ _That thing's going to blow before he gets here_ ," Red Alert breaks in shrilly.

 _"_ _He's coming back 'round,"_ Blaster calls, interrupting what's building up to be a major argument between the other senior officers. _"No, wait, that's not Skywarp! It's Blast Off! INCOMING!"_

I can't not look. I can't. I'm not dumb enough to leave the car – if anyone can get me out of range of an explosion, it's the fast-talking Autobot I'm sitting in – but I do stretch up enough to peek out the closest window.

It's a shuttle. He's moving slower than the jet was, and it looks like his cargo bay is open. As he dives low, more pieces of something fall from the shuttle to the ground. And some of those pieces…

I sit back down suddenly, open the car door and dash out, even though I thought I wouldn't a moment ago. This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I've ever done.

But I have to know if it's true. I have to know if I'm right.

I peek past the hangar door just as the jet comes in for another dive. And this time, I recognize the pieces he's dropping.

Because I've seen them before.

Not in person, no, thankfully not. But image is vivid in my mind.

I remember the color of the plating. The angles, sharp and strong.

Behind me, there's a click of silence as the others realize what I did. Then it's all shouting.

Skywarp and Blast Off make one final, low pass, and I watch as the last pieces drop to the runway in front of me.

I'm fairly certain these pieces won't blow up, no matter what Red Alert is shrieking on the comm behind me. Because not even the Decepticons would do that.

I'm not sure what their game is. I'm feeling rather numb, actually. All I'm sure about is that this changes everything.

_Everything._

As the jet and the shuttle roar out of sight, I take a step closer to the debris on the runway. The final pieces bounce a bit, and the one piece that's rounder than the others comes to a stop facing me.

I stare at the optics. They used to be red, I remember that much. Red, and sharp, and piercingly insane. The sharp line of the helm throws them into slight shadow, but I can still see that they've gone dark.

Not that that's surprising. I doubt even Ratchet can put this one back together.

"All the king's horses and all the king's men," I murmur, and it's almost a giggle. I can tell that it's the shock sneaking up on me.

Wish shaking fingers, I pull my phone back out of my pocket and unmute the volume. Instantly, the chaos of the open comm channel blasts at me – Prowl, calling for everyone to stay calm, Red Alert panicking, Ironhide snarling, Blaster shouting. None of it helpful. None of them understands fully.

I lift the phone to my ear, get ready to interrupt Red Alert's rant about what the Decepticons would hide in spare parts.

They haven't realized it yet. These aren't spare parts.

"It's Megatron," I force out, and the chatter dies down instantly. "In pieces. It's Megatron."

* * *

For a while, everything is chaos. Wheeljack arrives in a streak of white metal, skidding to a stop next to the runway. He pushes me back into Blurr's hands without ceremony, and the blue Autobot stands up, ready to run, with me in one hand and Benji in the other.

I try to tell them that it's no point worrying. They don't listen. Not until Wheeljack's declared the frame free of explosive materials. Even the energon that ran through Megatron's lines has been cleaned off.

Prowl arrives and Takes Charge. It's reassuring – he's got this calm presence that somehow makes everyone think it's going to be okay. And he's very good at what he does, too, if I'm to judge by the way he's treated and obeyed.

I have a feeling that Optimus may be the leader of the Autobots, but without Prowl they'd have ended up in a ditch a long time ago.

He takes one look at me and Benji, high up in Blurr's hands, and gives us a nod. "Blurr, find Mirage and Hound. The three of you will scout near the last known Decepticon base. Skyfire will take you."

"Yessir," Blurr replies. "WhataboutIsobel?"

"Just let her down," he says, already turning away from us to focus on the problem at hand. "First Aid is coming to pick her up after he's finished in medbay." A quick glance and fleeting smile back at me. "It is good to see you, Isobel."

"It's good to be back," I reply, because it is. Despite everything going on, despite the nasty sight of dismembered Decepticon in front of me, being back at base feels _heavenly_.

Blurr lowers me carefully to the ground. "IguessI'llseeyoulater."

"Happy hunting," I reply, smiling back at him. "And thanks for coming to get me."

He winks and throws me a mock salute. Then he's gone.

I step closer to the wall, Benji's lead in my hand. The Autobots have never been close to stepping on me before, but everyone's a bit distracted right now. Besides, back here I have an excellent view of what's going on without them really noticing me.

Ratchet arrives, traces of energon still covering his frame. He examines the dismembered frame for a few minutes, then nods. "Definitely him," he replies. "There are too many indicators of it being Megatron for it not to be. There's distinctive scarring across his spark chamber and down the back of the protoform on the left leg, there – physical reminders of wounds he took at Tyger Pax and Simfur, where he ended up in our hands afterward." He cleans his hands off with a rag, turning away from the remains. "The scarring is so minute you'd had to know it was there to find it. No one's going to replicate that. No one in the 'Con army has the skill. I doubt most of them knows it's even there."

"Thank you, Ratchet," Prowl replies. "I'll let you get back to your patients. How are they doing?"

"They'll live," the medic says gruffly. "Now if they only learned to use their processors instead of their afts when they're driving, I might get some peace around here."

In Ratchet-ese, that means that they'll be fine, and they're healthy enough that he dares to snark at them. Which is a good thing.

 _"_ _Prowl,"_ Blaster says, and I jump a foot in the air. I'd forgotten that the comm channel was still active on my phone. _"They're bringing the Combaticons in now. Optimus and Blades first with Vortex, then Ironhide and the twins with Onslaught. Silverbolt's got both Brawl and Swindle in his hold."_

"Tell Silverbolt to use the second runway," Prowl commands. "Optimus, Ironhide, hangar three. Two armed guards to each 'Con. Disabled comms. We will interview them separately."

"Won't do much good with the gestalt link active," Ratchet interjects.

"I know," Prowl sighs. "But it's the best we can do. At least they can't combine without Blast Off, and Red Alert has confirmed that he's gone."

"Small favors," Ratchet agrees. He turns towards the road. "Optimus is coming in now. Do you want me to disable their comms?"

Prowl shakes his head. "Wheeljack can do it. Go to your patients, Ratchet. I know you're itching to do so."

Ratchet smirks as he transforms, giving a double whoop of his sirens before he drives away. He passes Optimus coming the other way. The Prime turns and drives into one of the large hangars. Behind him, I can see Sideswipe and Sunstreaker corralling the missile truck from the TV. He's driving along on four flat tires, which I bet has to hurt, but he follows the other two into the hangar without making a fuss.

"They're not acting up," I observe, not really expecting anyone but Benji to pay any attention.

But to my surprise, Prowl was listening. "No, and it makes me apprehensive," he frowns. "There's something going on here that we don't know about." He turns then, facing me fully. "Tell me, Isobel, what did Swindle say?"

I shiver at the name, and Prowl suddenly looks apologetic.

"He said something big was happening," I reply. "Something that would change everything."

"Well, he's not wrong," Wheeljack mutters, walking towards us from among the wreckage of Megatron's frame. "This is pretty much the biggest thing to happen since… I don't even know."

"Since Praxus," Prowl says softly, and Wheeljack looks at him.

"Yeah," he agrees after a moment. "Probably." He prods a piece of arm with his foot. "And it will change everything." He turns towards where I can see Silverbolt is coming in for landing, followed by the rest of his gestalt. "So," Wheeljack says conversationally, "who d'you think's in charge of the 'Cons now? Screamer?"

"Everything points to that," Prowl nods. "Skywarp's involvement. The Combaticons' involvement – I'm not sure who has their loyalty, really, but they've been Starscream's before. The flashiness of the delivery."

I'm shaking my head before he's even done talking. Wheeljack notices. "You don't think so, Belle?"

Crap, not that blasted nickname from him, too. I glare at him as I move away from the wall. "Don't call me that. And no, I don't think so."

"Why not?" Prowl is looking at me curiously.

"Because if Starscream managed to overthrow Megatron, we'd be seeing pictures of him posing with Megatron's head, on Megatron's throne, on every hijacked news channel in the world," I reply, walking up to stand next to the tall Autobot. "This? This is… almost juvenile. He's dumped in inelegant pieces on your doorstep. Someone's saying 'here, have some Megatron, we broke him and we don't want him anymore. Also, look what we can do!' To be honest, and without knowing them very well, this seems almost like a prank."

Prowl is considering something, I can tell. And I'm not sure I'll like what it is.

"Isobel," he begins carefully. "Would you mind coming with me to talk to the Combaticons? Not to interrogate them," he continues hurriedly, probably noticing the disapproval on my face. "I just want to evaluate them. I need to find out what's going on."

I hesitate, then sigh. "Okay. I guess that's important."

* * *

In the end, I walk behind Prowl and Jazz as they march into the brig-slash-hangar. Or, well, Prowl is marching. Jazz is sauntering.

"Onslaught," Prowl says, stopping in front of the closest Combaticon. He's on his knees, hands bound in front of him in some sort of cuffs, both twins standing with bared swords and staring at him, but he looks like he merely decided to sit there for a while and meditate. He's not fazed at all.

"Autobot," he greets calmly.

"Mind tellin' us what's goin' on, mech?" Jazz voice is about ten degrees colder than when he talks to me usually, and I realize I'm now in the presence of Jazz, spec ops officer.

Onslaught just looks at them. "I fail to see where I should have a vested interest in informing you of anything."

"I'd say you have a vested interest in cooperating, considering you probably want to get out of here at some point," Prowl says levelly.

"Oh, please," Onslaught scoffs. "We all know you won't harm us. I have nothing to say."

Prowl stares at him for a moment longer. Onslaught just stares right back.

Then Prowl just turns and nods at Jazz. "Put him in stasis lock. We'll cage his spark when we get the chance."

That throws Onslaught off balance. His visor brightens suddenly. "You won't put us back in spark prison!"

"And why not?" Prowl asks, and now he sounds disinterested. "We both know you won't be traded back this time. You were sacrificed. The one who usually bothers to barter for your miserable lives is laying in pieces out there on the runway." He glances at Jazz again. "Go ahead."

I'm impressed. And repulsed.

Onslaught is just terrified, though. He turns towards Jazz, pulling back until Sunstreaker's bared sword is just touching his back, and he shakes his head violently. "No. No, you can't do this. You can't do this!"

"Can and will, m' mech," Jazz says cheerfully, and he does something to Onslaught's neck that I can't see.

The big Decepticon slumps forward, visor dark.

Oh, I will have _words_ with Prowl and Jazz later.

Behind Onslaught, minded by Air Raid and Fireflight, another large Decepticon is kneeling in similar position as Onslaught was. But he's very different. He looks mad, seething, but he's also terrified. "No, no, no, no, not spark prison," he murmurs. "No, no, don't, no, not there, not again."

Prowl walks past him, heading for a figure kneeling in the back corner under Skydive's and Slingshot's watchful gazes..

I recognize this one. His face is as familiar to me as my own.

After all, I spent eleven days scrutinizing it for any sign of sympathy.

Prowl just stops in front of Swindle and looks at him dispassionately. Jazz is leaning up against the wall, looking lazy. I'm willing to bet everything I own that it's an act.

Swindle smirks. "So I know you don't want to put us in spark prison."

Prowl just arches an optic ridge at him.

"It would be a real waste, is all," Swindle continues.

"Oh?" Prowl says disinterestedly. "Are you saying there is a merit in keeping you lot of pit-spawned troublemakers active?"

Swindle looks around, somewhat desperately, and he notices me. "For her!" he says, brightening. "I saved her life!"

" _Soundwave_ saved her life, hurting her in the process," Prowl counters. "You may have played a small part in it, but that is a past merit, not a present one. I'm not altogether sure you have a merit at this point."

Swindle looks from Prowl to me. "Isobel…" And he sounds scared.

Now, he's probably a good actor. But I've had almost a year to practice my Cybertronian tells. I've practiced on Sunstreaker, whose emotions show up in a quirk of the mouth or a minute change to the angle he holds his head. On Sideswipe, who spends half his time trying to convince others of not blaming him for something everyone knows that he did. On Ratchet, who's never anything but surly, on Bluestreak, whose every emotion shows up in a chaos of twitching doorwings, and on Prowl, who never shows anything he doesn't mean to.

Swindle can't hide from me. Not this time.

And he's terrified.

So I take a step forward. "Hey, Swindle. I'll make you a deal."

He just looks at me. So do Jazz and Prowl, but I really don't care what their game is at the moment, or whether or not I just threw a wrench into it.

"You tell me something I don't know about why there's a Megatron jigsaw puzzle on our runway," I continue. "And I'll bring you energon every day, enough to keep you fueled while you're in Autobot captivity."

"That doesn't keep me out of spark prison," he points out, and his innate conman is pushing the terror aside and taking over.

I shrug. "Take it or leave it. It's the only deal you're going to get." I turn to leave. "And consider this – even the Autobots wouldn't take the trouble of fueling your frame if you were in spark prison."

For not knowing what spark prison actually is, I think I got it right. Because Swindle sputters behind me.

I just walk away.

And Swindle caves.

"Okay! Okay. Pit, sweet-cheeks, you drive a hard bargain."

I turn back, arching an eyebrow at him. He looks defeated, but not upset somehow.

Jazz moving catches my eye. He tilts his head, very slowly, towards the back wall. Where there's a stack of energon cubes, probably left for the guards.

That's clever. We can get an answer today already.

I don't know how he expects me to get one, though. The things are almost as big as I am.

Luckily, I have help. "Slingshot, would you get me one of those cubes?"

He grins at me and saunters over to the pile. The cube is put down between me and Swindle, just out of reach.

When Swindle reaches for it, I just arch an eyebrow at him again. Surprisingly, it works. Though that might also have been Skydive's rifle aimed at him.

"You haven't told me anything yet," I point out.

"You ate while talking," he counters.

I smile a bit at that. "I did. But unlike you, I can be trusted. So you'll tell me something first. And then you'll get your cube."

He huffs, and groans, but he complies. "Fine, fine. Okay. That thing today? We were just a distraction."

I wait for more, but he doesn't continue. So I scoff at him. "That won't do. The deal was that you tell me something I don't know. I already knew that you were a distraction."

He smirks a bit at the reminder, at his own words to me all those weeks ago shot back at him.

"So you better have something better," I continue. "Or this cube… Well, Sunstreaker's probably hungry, right?"

"Starving," the golden mech replies from behind me. I knew he was paying attention.

Swindle looks at me. I can tell he's evaluating, considering. Weighing every nugget of information he possesses to see how useful it is. I can see the moment he makes up his mind, and this time, I let him reach for the cube.

"The order came from Soundwave," he says, and I can tell that's it. That's all we're going to get today.

And that's okay. Because behind me, I can hear familiar pedesteps entering the hangar.

"Isobel," First Aid calls, and I turn and run to him. As much as I can run on this leg anyway. And he scoops me up, cradling me close and crooning to me as if I were a child. It's comforting, and I hadn't realized I still needed that.

"How are your brothers?" I ask when I finally find my voice again.

"They'll be fine," he replies. "We've got them straightened out, the repairs just need to set." His finger moves on my back. "Ready to come home?"

I nod with real feeling. "Absolutely."

* * *

My house still stands. I shouldn't be that surprised, since I've only been gone for about two weeks. I'm a bit more surprised to find the fridge stocked and Benji already installed, box of dog candy and all. Apparently, someone's been busy.

First Aid follows me inside, trails a step behind me while I get ready for bed. I'm beat – it feels like Parker's first witness statement was two days ago, not this morning. I can barely keep my eyes open as First Aid climbs into bed with me and pulls me close to him.

Of course, since I'm so tired, my brain drags all my questions to the surface.

"Hey, Aid," I murmur, snuggling up against his side. "Am I okay to be here?"

He chuckles. His hand is moving lightly over my back. "It's Autobot business at this point. We haven't told anyone, and if the humans ask, we're keeping you in protective custody."

"Sounds good to me," I mumble. I can feel my body heating up, my breathing slowing down, and I know distantly that I'll be asleep soon. But I have one more thing to ask first.

"What'll happen now?"

"I don't know, love," he sighs. Gentle fingers come up to caress my cheek. "Sleep now. We'll figure it out tomorrow."

"But is the war over?" I insist, both needing an answer and a bit intrigued that he suggests we'll figure everything out in one day. Which is enough of a hint really that my brain is half asleep already.

"I guess we'll find out," he replies softly. "But not tonight. Sleep, love."

He begins humming my lullaby. I can't fight anymore after that.


	36. Making sense

_This is insane._

_There really is no other word that describes it. Everything’s up in the air, and no one seems to know what happens next._

_Lennox has taken command of the base. Apparently the appearance of a dismantled Decepticon frame makes this NEST business, and he’s the highest-ranking NEST officer under Morshower. The general is stuck at Pentagon and has delegated the honors, so Lennox is calling the shots here now. Thank heavens._

_I don’t think Cadock and his ilk are pleased. Too bad. We’re not that pleased with them either._

_I’m glad that Lennox is back. Both because he’s a very competent commander in his own right, and because he’s on good terms with the Autobots. Ironhide’s certainly thrilled he’s back._

_Also, Lennox took one look at me and just winked. So he’s clearly okay with me being back on base less than a month after I was fired. He’s probably even happy for me - he certainly never agreed with them sacking me._

_That leaves the human command in good hands, at least. Lennox handles all the politics and the diplomacy and the press – since the Combaticons’ excursion in downtown L.A. drew quite a bit of attention – which is a relief, since he’s quite adept at shielding the Autobots. The world seems to have sussed out that giant alien robots were involved even though neither side transformed, but since the Combaticons didn’t kill any humans the fallout is a lot lower than it could have been. It was all property damage and a few broken limbs and open cuts. So that’s good._

_But that’s about all the sense that’s being made from the chaos._

_Megatron’s remains have been moved into an unused hangar. Both Ratchet and Wheeljack are in and out of there constantly, trying to figure out what happened. So far, all Ratchet’s told everyone is that it looks like all hell broke loose on the Decepticon base._

_I got a bit more info when he kidnapped me to check my knee the other day. Apparently, Megatron was pretty much ripped apart. There were no clean cuts, just a lot of brutal savagery – deep claw marks across his throat, face and chest, his optics were shattered, torn lines and wires in his arms and legs. Ratchet was loath to speculate beyond that, though. So all we know so far is that someone went Dante’s circles of Hell on the Decepticon leader._

_It’s not exactly reassuring. But based on what little I know of the Decepticons, I’d say he had it coming._

_Our other sources of information haven’t been too helpful yet either. I’ve taken cubes to Swindle for the last two days, but all he’s been willing to say is that it wasn’t a planned coup, and that the body dump was Skywarp’s idea. Which makes a twisted sort of sense. I read his file, and he’s supposed to be a troublemaker and trickster. I guess the ultimate joke is to dump your dead leader on your enemies._

_Except he didn’t really try to hit anything. It was more making a statement than waging war. I don’t know what to make of it without more information._

_Jazz and Prowl always come with me when I go to talk to Swindle. They weren’t very happy with my intervention. That’s okay – I wasn’t very happy with them either. We spent a good while shouting at each other, actually, after I made the deal with Swindle. Prowl was all about the chain of command and my job description and who has experience with interrogation. Which is a major turnaround from when they wanted my assistance interrogating prisoners back at Diego Garcia. I wonder what happened – maybe they care more now? Or something?_

_I guess that could make sense, because Jazz was grumbling about me putting myself in danger. He didn’t want me ‘gettin’ up close an’ personal’ with the ‘Cons. As if it isn’t already too late for that. As if I don’t already know Swindle better than I know some Autobots. I can certainly read him a lot better than I can Cliffjumper or Hoist, to say it like that. Not that me shouting that had Jazz in any way convinced that letting me nearer to the ‘Con is a good idea._

_I can give as good as I get, though. So I was ranting back at them about the basic rights of prisoners and how torture isn’t a valid interrogation technique._

_I won._

_Swindle isn’t dangerous company. At least not now, when he’s shackled on hands and feet and always has two rifles aimed at him. He’s still himself, drinking his energon and cracking his jokes, talking back at the guards and whoever else is in the vicinity. He’s all attitude at this point, though. Makes me wish I’d given him a harder time with information when I was his captive. I guess I can chalk it down to being more squishable than he is and also being held captive by the Decepticons. He’s being held by the Autobots. There’s a world of difference._

_I thought I would have bigger problems just being near him, to be honest. I’m glad I don’t. It even helps – I’m interacting with him in a safe environment, and that does wonders for my confidence. I can even joke back._

_I tried talking to Brawl, too. He’s being watched constantly, same as Swindle. Two guards with weapons trained on him – usually either the twins or Chroma and Arcee – with Bluestreak, Cliffjumper and Bumblebee trading off on guarding the hangar entrance. Brawl’s shackled down, too, and it hasn’t helped his attitude much._

_I don’t know what I expected, but he’s not willing to talk to me. He made that perfectly clear. I don’t think even Sideswipe had heard all of those insults before._

_There’s a lot of anger in Brawl._

_Vortex and Onslaught are still in medical stasis. Ratchet’s had them moved to medbay – he said he might as well get their repairs done while they can’t kick up a fuss._

_He wasn’t very happy with Jazz and Prowl either. I got a “That’s my sparklet” after I chewed them out._

_I wonder when things’ll settle down around here. Everyone’s still on edge. It’s like we’re all waiting for the other shoe to drop. And hoping it doesn’t come in the form of another dismembered frame falling from the sky._

 

“Wake up, love,” First Aid croons. Soft fingers stroke my cheek. “I know it’s earlier than you would’ve liked, considering last night, but Ratchet wants you in the medbay.”

Considering last night, he says. I wouldn’t need to sleep longer if he and his amazing stamina hadn’t kept me up and going much later than I my usual bedtime. So I exaggerate my tiredness, yawning and blinking slowly up at him. “Ratchet wants me? Why?”

“He didn’t tell me. Just asked that I come to medbay as soon as possible, and to bring you along.”

Apparently, I’m not moving fast enough. Because my Protectobot bends down and scoops me up carefully. “Come on, love. Ratchet said that if I brought you, I could take my brothers out of stasis while you two talked.”

No wonder he’s excited. I’m eager to see those two miscreants back on their feet – pedes – as well. I aim to give them a piece of my mind on reckless driving and scaring me half to death. So I don’t object as First Aid trips impatiently while I wash up, dress and eat a hurried breakfast. Then I graciously let him carry me outside at an almost-run, and place me in the ambulance.

He does take the time to kiss me as he fastens the seatbelt. Though with my hand fisted in his hair it’s not like he has much of a choice.

“Love you,” I murmur as I let him pull back. “Let’s go wake your brothers.”

He leans in again, presses a fast kiss to my lips. “Love you more. You have no idea, Isobel. You’re perfect.”

He fades away before I get the chance to respond in kind, and I can only giggle as I take hold of the steering wheel in anticipation. “We could discuss that for hours, but you’re in too much of a hurry for me to distract you, aren’t you?” I let my fingers run teasingly over the sensitive parts of the dashboard.

“I do love your distractions,” he replies, his voice coming from the speakers. “But today I just really, really want Groove and Streetwise back. And if you keep doing that,” he purrs – really, _purrs_ – “we’re going to run straight of the road.”

“Well, we don’t want that,” I joke back. My fingers do one more circuit over him, and then I put them in my lap. “I’ll be good.”

The seatback massages me gently. “You’re amazing,” he says, still in that purring, seductive tone. I just have time to notice my skin breaking out in goosebumps at the sound before we’re off.

First Aid drives quite a bit faster than normal through the base. I don’t think anyone would blame him, but I can’t help teasing him a bit. “Amazing, huh? And here I thought you were going so fast because you were in a hurry to get rid of me.”

“Of course,” he replies loftily. “I’m overdue for some time with the guys. You’re nice and all, doll, but you’ve been stuck to me since you came back. A guy needs to be free, you know? Bros before hoes and all that jazz.”

I stare at the speakers for a moment. Then I collapse with laughter. Seriously, I’m laughing so hard I’m curled over in the seat. “First Aid,” I giggle, “you’ve been spending too much time with Sideswipe.”

“Blaster and the cassettes, actually,” he replies, and I can hear the grin. “Hold on to something.”

I grip the seat hard as he skids to a stop in front of medbay. He transforms around me, leaving me nestled in his hand and cradled up against his chest.

“Rewind showed us some sites on the internet,” he continues. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff that can be found there.”

“I’m afraid to ask,” I admit as he pushes the door open. “The internet is a den of depravity. It might not be 90 percent porn, but it’s certainly 90 percent not suitable for the workplace.”

“That’s what Rewind said too, more or less,” First Aid replies. “There were some pages he just wouldn’t show us, no matter how much Blades and Slingshot nagged him.”

“Good,” I say with feeling. “I don’t want to know what they would’ve gotten up to. Morning, Ratchet!”

The tall medic turns towards us with a nod. “About time, you two,” he grouses. I can tell he’s not really annoyed, though. “Did you take the scenic route or something? Oh, never mind, just give her here.”

He holds out his hand, and I climb from one palm to the other. Ratchet begins moving almost before I’m seated.

“Aid, go wake your brothers,” he calls back over his shoulder. “You know the procedure. Let me know if you need me. You shouldn’t.”

“Yes, Ratchet,” my Protectobot chirps – chirps! – before heading away. I giggle again as Ratchet pushes through the set of doors at the back of the medbay.

“He’s eager,” I comment, looking up at Ratchet’s face. My voice is almost swallowed by the wide, empty corridor we’re in. It’s very sterile-looking – bare walls, bare floor, hidden light fixtures, showers along the side. It looks like a decontamination room.

He grunts in response. “Of course he is. You should have seen him hovering. It was clear fairly early on that they would both be just fine, but he couldn’t stop worrying.”

“He’s like you,” I reply, petting the hand I’m sitting on.

“Yes.” Ratchet smiles at that. “He’ll make a good CMO at some point.” He turns a corner, nods towards the room in front of us. “Welcome to the isolation bay.”

I haven’t been to this part of the medbay before. It looks much the same as the normal one – berths, monitors, cabinets along the wall.

The two Decepticons resting on the berths are new, though.

Ratchet carries me over to the closest one and puts me down on his chest. It feels beyond weird to sit there – intimate and intimidating at once.

“Meet Onslaught and Vortex,” Ratchet says, indicating first the one I’m standing on and then the other. “I have them in here so I could make sure they weren’t carrying anything foul. They’re clear of viruses, though, so it’s safe.” He frowns. “Though they were most definitely foul. Dirtiest patients I’ve had in a good while.” He notices me grimacing down on the plating he’s put me on, and grins. “Don’t worry, I’ve hosed them down. Anyway, I’ve decided that you’re going to be instrumental in the care of our prisoners. So you need to be briefed on their condition.”

“You’ve decided?” I have to ask. It doesn’t sound like the kind of decision Ratchet would make alone.

“Yes,” he confirms. “Medic’s orders, backed by the Prime.”

I thought as much. “What do you want me to do?”

“Help,” he replies simply. “They’re going to need it. We’ve been handed an opportunity here, sparklet, and I’ll be slagged if I let anyone mess this up. We’re going to do everything we can to make things right, and that includes medical care for any Decepticons we have in custody. Complete medical care, both physical and mental. That’s where you come in. You’re in a unique position to help – you have the skills, and you already have the clearance.”

“I still have the clearance?” That surprises me a bit. I thought the army had stripped everything from me.

Ratchet apparently knows what I’m thinking. “You had two separate clearances, sparklet. We don’t give a scrap about what the humans thought you could know. They couldn’t touch your Autobot security level. It’s still as high as mine. Only Prowl, Red Alert and Optimus have higher clearance levels than us, everyone else has a lower one.”

That’s… a heady realization. I’d known that they’d given me a high clearance level, to make sure I could read everything in the files I got, but not that it was that high. My human clearance level was nowhere near that high.

Heh. I have a higher clearance level than Jazz. That has me grinning.

“Depending on what happens next, I’m even contemplating dragging you to the command meetings as a medical specialist,” Ratchet continues. “You don’t have the rank, but you can be consulted, which would be good when we have to figure out the Decepticons and what to do with them. And it would save me having to fill you in afterwards.”

I look up at him again. Something in his tone tells me he’s not just talking about the Decepticons already in captivity. “You’re hoping for peace now, aren’t you, Ratchet.”

“The Slagmaker’s dead,” Ratchet replies softly. “He’s lying in pieces a stone’s throw from here. We’re never going to get a chance like this again. So yes, I’m hoping for peace. I’m working towards it as hard as I can, and so is everyone else. But our hails to the ‘Cons haven’t been responded to, and Mirage and Hound haven’t reported back yet. And while we’re waiting for the Decepticons to make a move, and hoping it’s a move we want, I’m going to do my pit-damned best to work us in the direction we need to go.”

“Maybe I can get something more out of Swindle,” I comment. “He’s cooperative. Somewhat.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. “In the meantime, let’s see what we get out of his gestalt-mates here.”

He waves a hand, indicating the prone form I’m sitting on. “Meet Onslaught. Leader of the Combaticons. Alt mode is a flatbed missile truck. He’s a decent tactician, a good fighter, a bit of an arrogant fragger.”

I chuckle at that. “I know. I read their files yesterday, and that was all in it. Well, except for the fragger part.”

Ratchet snorts. “Good. Then I can go straight to the issues at hand.” He pulls one of the monitors closer, points at something I can’t make head or tails of. “His main problem is that he shows all the signs of fuel deficiency, probably over an extended period of time. Your hands are fairly sensitive, can you feel it on his plating?”

I kneel down on the recumbent mech to run my hands over the dark metal. “Whoa, that’s different.”

I’m used to the slick, smooth, almost soft plating of the Autobots. First Aid’s plating is even and solid to the touch, smooth and pleasant under my hands. Sunstreaker’s polished and pampered plating feels like cool, solid, silky satin. This is nothing like that. Onslaught’s plating is pitted, pockmarked and uneven under my hands, almost as if he’d been pelted with pebbles and driven through a sandstorm or something.

“Feel the imperfections?” Ratchet asks. I nod.

“Normally, a mech’s self-repair nanites would handle the worst of it, and a few hours with a cleaning cloth and a buffer would handle the rest,” Ratchet explains. “The fact that even his surface plating is in this state tells me heaps about what’s going on underneath.”

“Could he have just neglected himself?” I wonder. Not everyone is as vain as Sunstreaker – and thank heavens for that, or nobody would ever get anything done.

Ratchet shakes his head. “Not even the ‘Cons would let their plating get to this state unless they didn’t have any other choice. No, this is not voluntary. And look at this.” He manipulates the still frame somehow until some of the plating slides apart enough to let him run a finger along the seam. It comes out covered in dark gunk. “You won’t find this kind of grit build-up on any mech with access to wash racks. This is years of dirt, I believe. All his seams are like that.”

“I thought you said you’d hosed him down. Arenn’t you going to scrub him?” I look at the gunk with distaste.

Ratchet laughs at that. “No. I cleaned just enough to see what I’m dealing with, the rest he’ll have to handle. When I reactivate him, I’ll point him towards the nearest wash racks, and let him do the job himself.” He pushes a button on the monitor. “There’s more, though. Every line in his frame needs cleaning or replacing. There’s build-up and blockages everywhere from the poor-quality fuel they’ve been imbibing. His tank is almost corroded through, and all his filters are clogged. He also needs his antivirals updated. It all points to a complete lack of general maintenance. And none of that can be handled until we know what’s going on, more’s the pity. I’m not supposed to do general maintenance on the enemy, only critical repairs.”

That makes it clearer what he wants me to do, and why he had First Aid bring me here. “You want me to put pressure on Prime and Prowl.”

“Clever sparklet.” He grins at me. “You’re not afraid to shout at them if necessary, which is good. You did very well last time. So yeah, I want you to do that. You get through to them, Isobel. I’ve tried, but they’ve heard the same arguments from me before. If there’s even a chance that peace will happen, pit, even if there’s nothing but negotiating, I want to fix these guys up. I _need_ to fix them up.”

“All of them?” I ask, eyeing Vortex.

“All of them,” Ratchet confirms. He picks me up again, carries me over to the other Decepticon. “Vortex is in worse shape than his leader. He’s got the same maintenance issues as Onslaught does, which is bad enough, but he also looks like he’s been beaten to slag regularly. There are old fractures on every strut in his frame. I’ve rebroken and welded a few of them, since their placement was bound to cause him pain.” He shoots me a look. “I deem that as necessary repairs.”

“Sounds right,” I agree, completely deadpan.

“He also had a nasty rust infection around his shoulder joint that I’ve cleared up,” Ratchet continues, then puts me down on Vortex’s chest just over his spark chamber. “But there’s a bigger problem. Can you feel his spark?”

I lie down on the Decepticon chest, which feels even weirder than touching Onslaught’s, until I can feel the tell-tale vibration. “It feels… off. Faster, if that makes any sense. I don’t have that much basis of comparison, but this feels very different.”

“That’s because it is,” Ratchet confirms. “His spark’s working much harder than necessary, and I don’t know why. It may have destabilized when the gestalt bond was forced upon them – you’ve read about that, right? – and Hook, quack that he is, doesn’t have any way to counteract it. I’ve examined his spark closely, but I can’t run all the tests I need with him in stasis. I need to run the spark tests while he’s awake and reactive. And I can’t wake him up before I have a better handle on his maintenance.” He sighs then, sounding centuries older suddenly. “Vortex may be a sick glitch, but even he doesn’t deserve the constant pain he has to be in because of this.”

I listen to the humming spark for a moment longer before straightening. “His plating’s even worse than Onslaught’s too, isn’t it?”

“He’s almost starved,” Ratchet says. “That brittleness you feel is his body cannibalizing itself from the inside. I’ve got him on an energon drip now, that helps. But I don’t want to send him back to the ‘Cons if that’s the conditions they live under. If he doesn’t begin fueling properly, there won’t be anything left of him soon.”

“And yet, he looks so big up close,” a new voice says.

I stand up and whirl around fast enough to make myself dizzy. “Groove!”

“Hey, Belle,” the holoform grins. “Good to see you.”

I just throw myself at him. To his credit he catches me, spinning once with the momentum and hugging me close. “I missed you too, honey.”

I hold him as tightly as I can for a moment before pushing away. Then I punch him in the shoulder. “You total bastard! You scared me half to death! If you ever, ever do something like that again, I’ll – “ I punch him again for good measure, and this time he winces. “Dammit, I don’t know what I’ll do!”

“Does it help if I apologize?” he asks softly.

I pull him close again. “I’ll consider it.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I never meant to. I didn’t know you were watching.”

“Not the point,” I reply, pulling back a bit again. “Do you think it would have been any better if I hadn’t seen it? I don’t want you hurt, Groove. None of you. And that was a dumb move.”

“It was,” Ratchet confirms from behind us. “Do something like that again, and I’ll switch out your wheels with runners and put a cap on your RPMs. You’d make a handsome snowmobile.”

Groove shudders exaggeratedly. “A cruel fate.”

I giggle and hug him again. “So why are you in here? Should you be extending your holoform this far already? You just woke up.”

He glances at Ratchet. “Probably not. But First Aid had duties so he had to leave. And now Alice is visiting Streetwise, and – well…”

Ratchet facepalms. “Say no more. Come on. You don’t have clearance for this, Groove, so you can’t be in here, but you can hang out in my office with Isobel if you want. Extending that far won’t harm you.”

 

Ratchet’s office is very… Ratchet. It’s utilitarian, pieces of something lying everywhere, a few half-empty cubes standing here and there, one rickety chair behind the desk.

I settle on the floor with Groove, and Ratchet puts down a water bottle for me. It’s hilarious seeing the tiny bottle in that large hand – if he didn’t have special instruments in his hands for tugging on energon lines and such, I doubt he’d even be able to pick it up.

“Here,” he says. “I have some more work to do on those two slaggers in there. Comm me if you need me.”

Then I’m left with Groove. For a moment, we just look at each other. Then he grins, as blue sparks in his hand solidify into a bottle just like mine. “Cheers?”

I giggle. “Cheers. To insane Decepticons and an end to the war.” My plastic bottle knocks against his fake one, and I drain half of it in one go.

“So the insanity’s still on?”

“Yep,” I nod. “Nobody seems to know what to do next.”

“And how are you doing in the middle of that?”

I love Groove. He’s so perceptive, and kind, and gentle. He should be available in bottled form so we could just dose him out to people who need that.

“I’m okay,” I reply, drinking down the rest of my water. “Better than when I was on my own, actually. I have a purpose here right now. I was missing that.”

“I believe that,” he muses. “You weren’t made for idleness, Isobel.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

And then I tell him about the deal with Swindle, and the shouting match with Prime’s senior command, and Ratchet’s desire to have me work with the captive Decepticons. I’ve just gotten to the ludicrous idea of me having a higher clearance than Jazz when we’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Ratchet’s not here,” Groove calls, and Eject sticks his head in through the doorway.

“That’s okay. I was looking for Isobel, anyway.” He turns his focus to me. “Do you have a few moments? I wanted your opinion on something.”

I shrug, look at Groove. “Sure, I guess?”

“No problem,” he agrees. “I’ll go see if Streets and Alice are done.” He grins wickedly. “If not, I might just join in.”

I laugh at that as I stand up. “Somehow, I doubt she’ll appreciate that. See you, Groove.”

“Bye, Belle.”

“Don’t call me that.”

I can hear him chuckling as I follow Eject outside. He’s walking slightly faster than me, so I speed up a bit until we’re side by side. “So what’s up?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” he replies cryptically. He seems a bit nervous, too. It would be enough to set alarm bells ringing in my head if it wasn’t for the fact that this is Eject. He’s not going to do anything to harm me.

I do contemplate prying for a moment – I’ve had my share of unpleasant surprises lately – but Eject isn’t the type to play cruel jokes either. So in the end I just walk next to him. “Fair enough.”

We walk in silence past most of the buildings and over the runways. I can see a small shed on thefar side of them that it looks like he’s making for.

When we’re almost there, Eject swings in front of me and stops. Now he definitely looks nervous. “So. Um. I – we need your help. There’s someone who needs to talk to you. To all of us, really, but she’s afraid. Um. So she wanted to talk to you, and I hope you’ll be willing to talk to her even though her boss acted like a complete slagger.” The last bit comes out in a rush, like he just wants to get the words over with, and I know who’s here now.

“Eject,” I say calmly, trying to convince him. “I still consider Laserbeak my friend. She’s never hurt me.” Besides, if Laserbeak is here, and she has something to tell everyone… This could be the news we’re waiting for, and I’m not going to let her hide out her because she’s scared. Especially when she’s probably scared needlessly.

Eject smiles, and it’s such a look of relief that my own shoulders relax as well. “Good! Good. Come on, she’s waiting for us.”

He leads me around the wall of the shed. It turns out that the structure lacks the entire front wall, so it’s more of a lean-to than an actual shed, but it’s apparently a good enough hiding spot.

Inside, the Decepticon cassette is waiting for us.

“Laserbeak,” I breathe. “It’s good to see you.”

She chirps at me, tilting her head and leaning towards me hesitantly.

“She says she’s sorry,” Eject explains. “She didn’t know what Soundwave was doing.”

“Not your fault, baby girl. I don’t blame you.” I sit down next to her, frowning. Not too surprised when I get a lapful of cassette a moment later. “To be honest, it’s getting to the point where I don’t even blame your boss. Don’t like him much, true, but don’t blame him – he didn’t have much choice, did he?”

Laserbeak’s avian face has such a look of relief on it that I can’t help it, I have to hug her. She burrows in against my shoulder. “I blame the mech lying in pieces on the floor of hangar D,” I continue, nodding in what I think it’s the right direction. “I’m fairly sure he can be blamed for everything. What I don’t know, what _we_ don’t know, is why your compatriots decided to dump him on our doorstep. But I think that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Laserbeak chirps again, looks at Eject. Eject, in turn, looks at me. “Isobel, can I borrow your comm phone?”

I hand it to him without asking, watching as he adds an entry in my contacts. When he gives it back to me, it’s open on a contact listed as ‘Baby girl’.

When it rings, I pick up.

*I’ve been sent to ask for safe passage for a Decepticon representative, to discuss terms and conditions,* Laserbeak says. Her voice is strange – not a voice exactly, but more like if Siri sounded like a ten-year-old. It hitches and falls strangely, the tonal patterns are all off. *I’m supposed to talk to command, but I’m worried they’ll shoot at me if I get close.*

I nod at her. “I can understand why you’re afraid, especially in light of the last surprise your side gave us. Which representative, do you know?”

She hesitates, looks from me to Eject. *It’s Thundercracker.*

I nod again. I can work with that. It’s a bit of a relief, actually, that it’s not Soundwave. I remember Thundercracker’s image in my files very well – probably because it’s one of the ten images I’ve looked at the most. He’s just too good-looking to not be stared at.

That’s not what I need to be considering now, though. I banish all thoughts of tall, dark and handsome from my mind. “Okay. Who to contact… Ratchet is busy and doesn’t want to be disturbed right now, I guess, or he would be a good choice.”

*He’s scary,* Laserbeak protests. *He shouts and grumbles.*

I stare at her. “You lived with Megatron and Starscream, and you think Ratchet is scary?”

Eject laughs and finally sits down beside us. Laserbeak instantly moves from my lap to his, settling down with her head on his shoulder. There’s something in the way she leans against him and the way his head tilts just right to fit hers that has me smiling.

It’s a good step towards peace.

“Prowl and Jazz,” I continue, then shake my head. If Laserbeak’s intimidated by Ratchet, those two will probably freak her out. I need to think in terms of friendlier mechs. “Hound and Mirage are still away, Bluestreak –“ Laserbeak flinches, and I suddenly realize how often he must have been tasked with taking her down. That’s a definite no on Bluestreak. “ – is on guard. I think I know who we need. I’m going to hang up now, okay?”

Laserbeak nods, though she looks nervous. I leaf through the contacts on my phone until I find who I’m looking for. “Hot Spot? I need your help.”

 

I stand by Prime’s side by the runway, looking up as Thundercracker approaches. Laserbeak and Eject are next to me – Laserbeak didn’t want Eject to leave, so he’s allowed to be here with us. Every now and then she leans against him, almost as though she needs the support.

Which may very well be the case. She’s a solitary Decepticon cassette in the middle of the entire Autobot command staff. Optimus did promise her safe passage, but I kind of get her nerves.

I’d have been nervous too, if I were her.

Thundercracker lands gracefully, slowing to a stop and transforming in front of us. And holy crap, that picture in my files did not do him justice.

Because Thundercracker’s _hot_. I mean seriously hot, of the kind that could get even Jazz to sit up and take notice. And then he opens his mouth to speak, and I have to lock my knees to keep from dropping.

“Prime,” he rumbles, his voice a deep timbre that instantly has my skin in goosebumps. “Thanks for receiving me.”

“Thank you for reaching out to us,” Optimus replies. “Laserbeak says you’re coming to discuss terms and conditions? For what, exactly?”

Thundercracker hesitates, then nods slowly. “A lot has happened. There is much to discuss. If you wouldn’t mind,” he looks around at all the onlookers – half the Autobots have nothing better to do than show up to gawk, it seems. “Could we take this somewhere private?”

Optimus nods graciously. “Certainly. I hope you don’t mind – we need to disable your weapons first. As a show of faith, my officers and myself will also be unarmed.”

I catch a glimpse of Ironhide’s frown. He’s not happy with that.

I’m glad Prime’s doing it, though. It shows good faith. Possibly a bit of naivety, possibly too trusting for his own good, but it’s still the right thing to do.

Especially since Thundercracker just nods and surrenders his weapons without comment.

Prime turns, looking around. “Ironhide, Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet, Wheeljack, Isobel. Join us, please. Inferno, let Red know he’s welcome to join us via camera should he desire to do so.” As his officers begin to move around him, he turns to the cassettes next to me. “Eject, I entrust Laserbeak to your care. I’m sure you’ll show her every courtesy. Blaster has been alerted to this.”

Eject nods as the flier presses against him. On impulse, I lean towards them. “Go to my house,” I whisper. “Hide out for a while, watch a film or something. It’s safe.”

I have enough time to see Eject nod before a large hand catches me, lifting me up off the ground. I twist around to see that it’s Prowl who’s picked me up. He raises an optic ridge at me.

I raise an eyebrow right back at him. “So does this mean we’re okay?”

He smiles, a tiny quirk of elegant lips. “Yes. I do believe we owe each other an apology, though. I am sorry I shouted at you. Though I do not regret the words, I could have handled that better.”

“I’m sorry too,” I reply. “I still think I’m right, but you’re my friend. I shouldn’t have let my mouth run off with me like that.”

Thundercracker’s staring at us. I guess that kind of conflict solving isn’t too common in the Decepticon ranks.

Optimus leads us to the command barracks. It’s a fancy name for a hangar that’s been reinforced with interior walls and set up with a large video conference solution and plenty of large Cybertronian chairs, with a human walkway at Cybertronian eye-height around the edge of the room. I’ve only been in here once before, when Jazz and Prowl took me here to hash out what I was allowed and not allowed to do with Decepticon prisoners.

That time worked out okay. I’m hoping this does too.

Thundercracker gets a chair I suspect is usually kept for Silverbolt. It has no back, so there’s lots of room for his wings. He’s still staring at me as Prime takes his customary seat at the head of the table, and Prowl sits down to his right. I’m set down gently on the table in front of the both of them.

“This room has been shielded,” Optimus says. “We can speak freely.”

Jazz saunters in as Thundercracker nods, setting cubes of energon in the center of the table. “Help yourselves, mechs.”

Ratchet shoves cubes in everyone’s direction. I have to jump fast to dodge the ones sailing towards Prime and Prowl.

Thundercracker just looks at his cube, though, making no move towards it. At least he’s finally looked away from me.

“Drink,” Ratchet insists, not unkindly. “If your systems are in any way in the same shape as the Combaticons’, you need the fuel. It’s clean, I swear.”

Thundercracker still hesitates. “I fueled before I left base.”

“Well, it’s there if you want it,” Optimus says gently. “Now, if you’re all ready, we’ll begin.”

Thundercracker turns to him, then looks at me again. It’s beginning to make me uncomfortable.

“No offense, Prime, I know you’re cooperating with the… humans,” he says, a slight sneer on his face. It makes him looks like Starscream for a moment. “But I don’t see why one should be present for this discussion.”

Prime looks at me. I look back, raising my eyebrows and hoping he doesn’t kick me out. “Maybe you should introduce me, Optimus?”

A slight crinkle to the corner of his optics, and I know I’m safe. “Of course. That was remiss of me.”

I can hear Ratchet snorting from a few places down.

“Thundercracker, this is doctor Isobel Harrington,” the Prime explains, turning towards the Decepticon again. “She’s not an emissary for the humans. She’s an honorary Autobot, a medical specialist working with our mechs. She has no loyalty to the humans on whose base you reside.”

“She was the one who was held on your base a few months back,” Ironhide grunts. “Sure you don’t recognize her, Decepticon?”

I frown at him. “Ironhide, that was uncalled for.”

“An honorary Autobot,” Thundercracker says flatly. “How does that work? Why should I trust it with this?”

“Laserbeak trusts me,” I reply. “Swindle does too, I think. If it helps, think of me as – as the Prime’s cassette, or something. I swear that I’m on your side. Cybertronians’ side,” I specify as Thundercracker raises an optic ridge at me. Damn, but he’s handsome when he does that.

“But you’re human.”

I shrug. “A design flaw. Trust me, I’m nice.”

“Isobel is mated to my apprentice,” Ratchet shoots in. “We consider her one of us.”

Now Thundercracker’s staring at Ratchet, then at Prime, then at me. “You Autobots are all insane.” He sighs. “Very well. I’ll accept the human if you guarantee that it won’t act against us.”

“Good,” Ratchet says. He leans over and pushes the energon cube slightly closer to Thundercracker. “Now will you refuel? Your levels are under fifty percent.”

“That’s normal,” Thundercracker replies, ignoring Ratchet’s startled huff at the comment. “And I’ll thank you not to scan me without asking first, medic.”

I guess I know why the Combaticons were borderline starvation now. Based on Ratchet’s reaction, less than fifty percent is not good. He looks about an inch away from hooking Thundercracker up to an energon drip right there.

The Seeker clearly notices. “All right, I’ll fuel,” he concedes. “But let me say my piece first.” He stands up and turns slightly until he’s facing the room. The Autobots around me straighten, focus sharpening across the board.

Well, except for Prowl. I don’t think he ever relaxed.

“As you may have figured out,” Thundercracker begins, “the Decepticons are under new leadership. Four days ago, SIC Starscream killed Lord Megatron in an unanticipated altercation. The fallout of the fight was enough to incapacitate Starscream as well, making him ineligible for leadership. At this point in time, Soundwave leads the Decepticons.”

The silence is absolute. Then everyone breaks it at once, speaking on top of each other until Prime raises his hands.

“Peace. All will have a chance to speak. Jazz?”

“Are ya tellin’ me that Screamer finally succeeded? He’s been tryin’ t’get Megatron dethroned for ages.”

Thundercracker shakes his head. “Not so. There was nothing premeditated about this. Also, Star never wanted to lead. He just didn’t think Megatron was capable of it anymore, and someone had to take over.” He closes his mouth abruptly, as if he’d said too much. I don’t think he meant to reveal any personal details, it was probably just a reaction to the slur on his trine leader.

“How is Starscream incapacitated?” Ratchet demands. He would be interested in that, and Thundercracker should be relieved at the changed angle.

The Decepticon hesitates, though. “He… the attack… It ruined him. His mind is broken. He no longer responds to us. We – Skywarp and I – we’ve been forced to shut down the bond.”

Ratchet shoots me a quick glance, and most of the others turn to look at me as well.

“Isobel?” Optimus prompts. “Your opinion?”

I look up at the dark Seeker. “There is no processor damage?”

He shakes his head. “Hook has confirmed that his processor’s okay.”

I nod. “Then it’s most likely a psychological reaction. It could be anything from an acute shock reaction to severe, complex PTSD. It’s not unusual in abuse victims.”

“So when will he snap out of it?” Thundercracker says. He’s staring at me again.

“That’s impossible to say. He may come back to himself tomorrow, or never. I’m afraid at this point that all you can do is wait. Only time will show how severe his condition is. Keep trying to reach him, to reassure him, but keep some distance in case he wakes up violently. He may very well wake up and not know when or where he is, or even who you are at first. I hope you’ve removed him from the scene and put him somewhere he deems safe?”

Thundercracker’s focus shifts, and I’d bet he’s letting his trinemate know. “There’s nowhere on the Nemesis where he feels safe,” he says after a moment, “but we’re doing the best we can.” His stare softens, though. I think I’ve been accepted.

There’s a brief moment of silence before Ironhide breaks it. “So… the ‘Cons are loyal to Soundwave now? It seems a bit too easy.”

“There’s nothing easy about it.” Thundercracker frowns. “Our situation is precarious. We’re almost out of energon. Soundwave is holding us together for now, but the outcome was unclear before me and Skywarp supported him. When Onslaught and Scrapper agreed as well the others settled.” He looks directly at Prime. “It’s a solution, but it won’t work for long. We’re on borrowed time.”

Optimus nods slowly.

“So what d’you actually want?” Jazz asks, tilting his head and leaning back in his chair. “Why did you come?”

Thundercracker in-vents heavily. “Understand that this isn’t easy. We’ve discussed this at length, and we really can’t see another option, but we’re not happy about it. The problem is, at the end of it, that Megatron was the driving power behind the Decepticon cause. We still want what he wanted, but now we’re lacking the clear leadership, the way forward.” He looks intently at the Prime. “We didn’t want to do this,” he repeats. “But it’s the only way we can see to survive. And as Blast Off said, we can’t do any good offline. Consider this our last, desperate measure.”

“Understood,” Optimus says. “Go on.”

Thundercracker straightens, stands tall and arrogant and proud in front of us. His wings flare wide, his chin is raised, enabling him to look down at everyone seated around the table. His posture is completely at odds with his words. “I came on behalf of the Decepticons to sue for peace.”

The relief around the table is almost palpable. I can see Ratchet trying to suppress a wide smile.

“I think we come to an agreement,” Optimus replies, and I can hear the smile. “What terms do you suggest?”

“I’ve been authorized to offer the following,” Thundercracker says, pulling a datapad from somewhere and handing it to the nearest officer, who happens to be Wheeljack. “The Decepticons will cease all hostilities against Autobots and against planet Earth and its inhabitants. We will recognize Optimus Prime as the leader of a unified Cybertron, and by extension all Cybertronians. In return, the Autobots will offer fuel and medical care to any Decepticon who asks for it. There will also be no punishment enacted for acts of war committed against the Autobots by Decepticon soldiers.” He looks from Prime to Prowl and Ironhide at that. “Also. The Decepticons will be allowed equal rights with the Autobots. There will be no return to the caste system we rebelled against. We will have equal influence in the process to set up a new Cybertronian government, and full rights to take any positions we’re qualified for. There will be no discrimination against frame types, no laws or rules barring anyone from office or chosen function based on former alignment, frame type, optic color or city of origin.” He shoots Optimus a look that has to go straight to his core. “Megatron may be dead, but the Cause lives. We will not abandon our goals.”

“I see.” Optimus frowns slightly. “Thundercracker, a room has been set aside for you. I’d ask that you wait there while we talk this over. Two of my mechs are waiting outside to escort you. Laserbeak may join you, if you both wish.”

The Seeker inclines his head. “Thank you, Prime.” He hesitates again, though, as he turns to leave. “I ask that you don’t take too long to deliberate. We’re on a knife’s edge, here. I’d hate to come back to find Soundwave dead and Motormaster in his place.”

I notice the tiny shudder through the Prime’s frame at that. “Understood. We will let you know as soon as possible.”

 

_Swindle was downright chatty when I told him that I was late because I’d been sitting in on the command meeting with Thundercracker. The whole ‘one piece of info for one cube’ thing seems to be dead, because he suddenly told me all about the plan of using the Combaticons as a distraction, how they were meant to pull enough Autobots away so that Skywarp and Blast Off could get close without getting shot down. He apparently thinks working with Skywarp is a hoot and a half from the way he was laughing about it, and he seemed less worried about the state of the Decepticons than Thundercracker was. Though I suspect that that’s mostly because he just doesn’t care who’s in charge. Swindle is an opportunist, and he’ll be fine under any management._

_What a command meeting to debut on._

_Thundercracker had barely left before everyone started talking at once. Optimus settled them easily enough, I guess it’s a sign of how much they respect him. Not that that meant that the discussion itself was easily settled._

_Everyone seems to agree that the medical requirements and the fuel is a done deal. Ratchet was ten types of giddy at that. He even insisted that medical treatment and general maintenance be made a mandatory condition of the agreement, not just an offer, so all the Decepticons had to report to him at some point. I think he’s afraid they’ll weasel out of it if they get the chance. And he really doesn’t want any of them to suffer._

_Ratchet is a genuinely good spark. He just hides it well._

_The rest was apparently easy to agree with in theory, but harder to hammer out in practice. Red Alert and Ironhide pretty much threw a fit at the tabula rasa condition, and Prowl kept saying that there at least had to be some form of punishment for crimes against the civilian population. He wants justice for Praxus, I guess, and after reading about it I can’t really blame him. Wheeljack kept insisting that they needed more information to even begin to figure out who was responsible for what, and that if they were talking crimes against civilians, then he as a primary weapons engineer would be equally as guilty as the ‘Cons. Which Ratchet disagreed with, since Wheeljack couldn’t be held responsible for what other people did with his weaponry. And on it went._

_That one’s going to be a proper snake pit to figure out._

_Everyone seems to agree that the discrimination conditions were valid, though. The Autobots may be remembering Cybertron differently than the Decepticons, but no one wants to willingly suppress another mech. These aren’t bad bots. Plus, no few of the Autobots came from lower standards of living themselves – Mirage and a few others being the notable exceptions – and though the Decepticons probably had it a lot worse, the idea of equal rights seemed to appeal to everyone._

_Which is good, or I would have had to shout at them some more._

_The meeting dragged on, though. When they started discussing technicalities, I excused myself. I really don’t have an informed opinion on a lot of the stuff they discussed. It’s ancient history to them, so for me it’s really prehistoric. I stayed long enough to make sure that they seemed to be willing to treat the ‘Cons humanely. The rest will have to be up to the Autobots to figure out._

_Not that the entire peace treaty needed to be hashed out today, even though it seemed they were heading that way. All they really have to do now is to figure out whether they agree to Thundercracker’s demands or not, or whether they’ll counter with a suggestion of their own. Either way, I don’t think they’ll let this chance get away from them. Nobody wants to fight a war anymore._

_I’m going to drag First Aid to my house to properly meet Laserbeak afterwards. I should have done that already, it’s strange that they’ve never properly talked. She remembers him, I bet, since he’s treated her before, but now we’re just going to hang out. I aim to show the Decepticons what a normal, peaceful life looks like. Call it my little contribution to the peace process._

_Wish I could invite Thundercracker too. He seems like a decent mech, Decepticon and war criminal aside. But I guess I have to wait until it’s official that they’re opening negotiations._

_When that happens, and when we know which ‘Cons can be trusted to do what, I’m going to talk to Bumblebee. I can't imagine an occasion more worthy of a party than peace talks._

Turns out, I don’t have to wait long. It’s just been a few hours since I left the meeting when I’m standing on the runway again, flanked by the Protectobots on one side and Laserbeak, Eject and his family on the other, looking up at Optimus and the rest of the command staff. Thundercracker’s standing slightly to one side, almost like he doesn’t want to be noticed.

“Autobots,” Optimus begins, making sure his voice is pitched loud enough that everyone can hear him. I notice Lennox and some of the NEST guys in front of me wincing slightly at the volume. “Human allies. I have good news to share.”

I can’t quite suppress the grin. Lennox is quirking an eyebrow at me.

“The last few days have been chaotic. You all know we have most of the Combaticon gestalt captive, and Megatron’s offlined frame is in our hands.” He gestures towards Thundercracker. “Earlier today, Thundercracker, Second to Air Commander and Winglord Starscream, sought free passage to our base. He brought with him an proposal on behalf of the Decepticons.”

There’s a whisper running through the crowd at this point. I can see Fireflight almost bouncing on his toes, Skyfire eyeing Thundercracker with speculation, Perceptor looking cautiously optimistic, Cliffjumper frowning.

Optimus’ gaze sweeps over the assembled mechs. He smiles, optics crinkling at the corners. “With some alternations, we have decided to accept the proposal. As of this moment, we are officially in a ceasefire. Tomorrow, Thundercracker will be joined by a delegation from the Decepticons, and we will begin to work out a peace treaty.”

For the second time today, there’s absolute silence around me. Then there’s an earsplitting roar. I throw my hands over my ears hoping to preserve at least some of my hearing. I’m not the only human doing so.

Optimus raises his hands again. “These are the preliminary conditions we’ve all agreed to,” he says. “The Decepticons will cease all hostilities against humans and other Cybertronians. They will submit to my authority, but will be equal participants in the drawing up of the peace treaty. Previous war crimes against civilians will be punished.” Sharp blue optics sweep over the Autobots in front of him. “That goes for both sides. Both Autobots and Decepticons will be held accountable.”

I notice quite a few aborted protests at that. I don’t know how much bad the Autobots have done to civilians – but I guess the fact that the war they waged decimated their home planet might count against them.

It does sound like they’ve resolved it for now. At least enough to get the peace talks going. But it’s still going to be a pit to figure out. I don’t envy whoever it is who’s going to be the Cybertronian tribunal.

“The Decepticons will surrender complete medical journals and personnel files to Ratchet,” Optimus continues. “In return, the Autobots agree to give medical assistance and general maintenance to any Decepticon in need of it.”

Hah. Clever phrasing. I don’t know if Thundercracker quite knows what he’s agreed to there.

“I expect you to show the incoming representatives every courtesy. If you have any questions, please just ask.” Then he smiles, widely enough that his optics narrow to mere slits. Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet and Ironhide, all standing up there with him, are grinning as well. Ratchet widest of all. “Congratulations, Autobots. You’ve seen the end of the war.”

This time I manage to cover my ears before the noise erupts.

I guess maybe we’ll have to have a party tonight instead.


	37. As the world falls down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I feel I must remind you that this story will have a happy ending.

I look up at the approaching shuttle. It’s so big it’s impossible to miss, even though they’re at least ten minutes out still. Next to me, I can feel Jazz fidget.

Ceasefire or not, he’s not too happy about the last member of the Combaticons coming here. None of them are. Granted, Vortex is still in stasis, and Brawl is undergoing surgery to repair his almost destroyed fuel processing unit, but it’s still a complete Decepticon gestalt in the middle of the Autobot base.

Laserbeak says that Blast Off is the mellowest of them all, though. And I trust her. So hopefully it’ll be okay.

It’s probably why the Aerialbots are all grounded, and why the Protectobots are all hovering like anxious guards. The Autobots aren’t taking any chances.

You wouldn’t know it to look at Optimus. He’s calm and steady, a rock-solid presence in front of the others, standing next to Thundercracker as if he’d never done anything else.

“Sure ya’s okay t’be here, sweetspark?” Jazz murmurs. “That’s Soundwave on that shuttle.”

“I know,” I reply. “I have to be here, Jazz. I promise I’ll call Groove to come get me if it gets too much.”

It’s part of the deal. Ratchet wants me to stand in for him at today’s meeting, since Brawl’s surgery is critical and time-consuming and requires both First Aid and Hoist to assist, but if I feel at any point that I can’t continue Groove or Hot Spot will get me out of there.

I really hope that wouldn’t be necessary, though.

I also can’t help but think that this is Ratchet putting me to some sort of test.

The shuttle approaches, and I tense. I’m not the only one. No one says a word as Blast Off gently touches down on the runway and coasts to a stop in front of us.

I take a few steps back, not stopping until I’m plastered against the front of Prowl’s leg.

“I’m okay,” I breathe, feeling more than seeing his focus turn to me. “I just need to stand here for a minute.”

“Of course,” he replies softly. “Do you want me to carry you?”

“Afterwards. I need to face him on my own two feet.”

The first mech off the shuttle isn’t Soundwave, though. It’s a smallish mech in eye-wrenching neon green and purple. He looks around curiously.

“Scrapper,” Optimus greets him. “Welcome to Edwards Air Force Base and Autobot headquarters.”

“Prime,” he returns, walking towards us slowly. “I look forward to getting to work.”

“As do we all,” Prime replies. “Wheeljack will take your weapons and show you to the meeting room.”

Wheeljack’s headfins blink at the newcomer, and he tilts his head away from the group. “Come on, mech. I bet you’re in need of some energon.”

I look back towards the shuttle. This is it.

When Soundwave exits, it’s somewhat hesitant. None of Scrapper’s confidence or Onslaught’s self-assuredness.

My blood still turns to ice in my veins. I’m fighting hard to avoid hyperventilating. I barely notice at first as the large shuttle transforms to a large mech, but when I realize it gives me something else to focus on I grab the chance to look away eagerly. Blast Off is as big as Onslaught, if not bigger, but I can see the signs of neglect on his plating from here. Ratchet will want to get his hands on this one sooner rather than later.

“Soundwave,” Optimus says, pulling me out of my scrutiny. “Blast Off. Welcome to Edwards Air Force Base and Autobot headquarters. Blast Off, Silverbolt will escort you to Onslaught and Swindle. A space has been set aside for you to use.”

“Thank you, Prime,” the large mech rumbles, turning aside to follow the Aerialbot commander. I notice Sideswipe and Sunstreaker not so surreptitiously slipping in to follow them.

Focusing on Blast Off helps. I get my breathing back under control. But now he’s gone and there’s only Soundwave left to focus on.

“Soundwave, if you’ll come with me,” Optimus says. The Decepticon bows his head. He hasn’t said a word yet, and I’m glad. I’m not sure how I’ll handle his voice.

I lean against Prowl’s leg as they walk past. I never noticed before how big Soundwave is. Bigger than First Aid, certainly.

My breathing’s accelerating again by the time Prowl bends to pick me up. He cradles me against his chest, over his spark – I can feel the telltale humming through the plating. It’s a subtle reminder of where I am and who I’m with.

And, thankfully, it helps settle me down.

We enter the same hangar as before, sit in the same chairs. Prowl keeps me cradled against him as he sits down, Jazz next to him. Wheeljack and Scrapper are already there, sitting on opposite sides of the table and apparently discussing the merits of solar energon versus geothermal energon. The discussion goes right over my head.

As Thundercracker walks in and sits down, Prime clears his throat.

“We’re waiting for two more to arrive,” he says, almost sounding apologetic. Prime would apologize for the sun going down if he thought it would help. “Please, help yourself to some energon while you wait.”

Thundercracker doesn’t hesitate quite as much today. Scrapper seems to be on his second cube already.

Neither he nor Soundwave seems to have noticed me yet. With the way I’m cowered against Prowl’s plating, I’m not surprised.

Soundwave doesn’t take a cube. He looks alert and ready, hard as it is to tell properly with the mask and visor. But First Aid has those too, and even though he often takes the mask off when he’s around me I’ve seen him with it enough to get some practice at reading him despite them. Eject and Rewind helps, too.

Soundwave isn’t quite as calm as he seems.

Hidden behind Prowl’s fingers, I study him surreptitiously. His frame’s similar to Blaster’s, though their helms and chests are different. I’m just beginning to wonder just how similar they really are when the door bursts open and Rewind and Laserbeak rush in.

Together.

Giggling.

If I were a betting woman, I’d say Soundwave is staring at his symbiont with wide optics.

“Hey, Prime,” Rewind says, still chuckling a bit, “where do you want me?”

“Wherever it’s the most practical for you,” Optimus replies. “Feel free to move around, if that makes it easier.”

“And calm yerself,” Ironhide grumbles. “This ain’t a comedy show.”

“Sorry,” Rewind says, bowing his head a bit.

“Laserbeak: apologizes for tardiness,” Soundwave intones as she lands on his shoulder. “Offense: will not be repeated.”

I barely hear Optimus’ reply. At the first sound out of Soundwave my body stops working, and I’m suddenly curled up into a tiny ball with no recollection of moving. Prowl has to tighten his grip on me to make sure I’m not plummeting to my death.

I don’t know how much or little I miss. But I do notice that for some reason, Prowl decides that putting me down on the table is a good idea. I’m still in ball mode when strong arms surround me.

Oh. Jazz transformed. That’s his holoform hugging me.

“Shh, sweetspark,” he sooths. “Ya’s okay, he ain’t goin’ t’ hurt ya.”

Under Jazz’s careful attentions, I manage to straighten my limbs again.

And lift my head to find everyone staring at me. I can feel my skin crawling. Rolling into a ball again is more than a little tempting, but Jazz’s hands are blocking me.

Scrapper’s not so bad. He looks mainly curious. Thundercracker is staring at me with one optic ridge raised.

I take a deep breath and turn to the last ‘Con present, the one Jazz has been shielding me from. I have to lean around Jazz’s torso before I see him. “Hello, Soundwave.”

There’s not much volume to my voice. But it’s enough to make him flinch violently backwards.

It’s supremely gratifying.

He’s clearly trying to say something, but static is all that comes out. Scrapper and Thundercracker are looking from me to him and back, similar incredulous looks on their faces.

It’s Laserbeak who saves the situation, alighting and landing in front of me. She chirps once and pushes her head against my shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I murmur, petting her back. “Jazz, you can let go.”

He just hums as he fades away. No sooner is he gone than Prowl reaches for me again, but this time I push him away. “I’m good, guys. Carry on, Optimus.” Laserbeak stays next to me.

The Autobot leader looks at me for a moment, then just nods. “If you’re sure. Laserbeak, welcome. It is good to have your assistance.”

She chirps in response, settling closer to me. When Soundwave turns his focus at her, she chirps again, and this time there’s an angry quality to the sound.

By his reaction, I can’t help thinking that Laserbeak just told her carrier to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine. Or whatever the Cybertronian equivalent is.

It’s enough to have me almost smiling again as I lean into her support.

“As you may have gathered, I’ve asked Laserbeak and Rewind to record the proceedings here,” Optimus continues. “Two independent recordings, done by one member of each faction, should be sufficient to satisfy any skeptics. Cassettes, if you’re ready?” He waits for their nod before smiling and spreading his hands palms down on the table.

“At the risk of sounding too formal, but for the benefit of the record,” he begins, “I’d like to declare the first day of the peace talks between the Autobots and the Decepticons in session. Present for the Decepticons: communications officer Soundwave, Constructicon leader Scrapper, Air Second Thundercracker. Present for the Autobots: Optimus Prime, Second in Command and Head Tactician Prowl, Third in Command and Head of Special Operations Jazz, Weapons Specialist Ironhide and Chief Engineering Officer Wheeljack. Standing in for Chief Medical Officer Ratchet, doctor Isobel Harrington.”

Soundwave’s still staring at me. Scrapper nods as if he’s suddenly understood something.

“Here,” he says, putting something on the table and sliding him over. “The medical files Ratchet wanted. Hook sends his regard.”

I look at the datapad. It’s as big as me. “Thank you. I’ll see to it that he receives these.”

“Soundwave,” Prowl says behind me. “Have you heard the terms Thundercracker agreed to yesterday?”

He hesitates, still focused on me, but then he looks at Prime. “Affirmative. Terms: agreeable.”

“That was easy,” Wheeljack says, helmfins blinking. “Does that mean you surrender?”

“Negative,” Soundwave replies, turning to look at the inventor. “Decepticons: do not surrender. Mutually beneficial agreement desired.”

“That said,” Scrapper interjects, “there’s quite a lot we’re willing to agree to.” He sighs, turns his hands on the table so they’re palm up. His mouth is set in a frown. “We’re in dire straits in all manners of the term. The last decisions Megatron made were…”

“Decisions: unwise,” Soundwave supplies.

“Without meaning or merit,” Thundercracker agrees.

“Completely, absolutely crazy,” Scrapper finishes. “He’s driven us to the edge of starvation and complete breakdown, to where we have mechs who are in such states of disrepair that they won’t last another battle. Brawl was one of them,” he says, nodding towards me. “Astrotrain is another. We have no fuel reserves since everything’s shipped off to Cybertron, our base is falling apart, there’s daily infighting. Or there was. When Screamer took Megatron down…” He shrugs. “I think we were all hoping that that would happen at this point. Well, maybe except for Soundwave.”

The cassette carrier bends his head slightly. “Soundwave: loyal.”

It’s hard to tell, covered up as he is, and with that monotone. But I think that’s grief. Though whether he’s upset because Megatron’s dead or because his loyalty let things get this far, I don’t know.

“So why not surrender?” Wheeljack asks. “Sounds like you’re up shit creek in a barbed wire canoe with a rusty spoon for a paddle. As the humans say.”

Everyone stares at him. Heck, even I’m staring at him.

“Well,” Scrapper begins again, clearly ignoring the slang terms he doesn’t understand, “we’re not beaten. Not yet. Surrender means – well, surrender. And we’d rather go out in a fireball than come quietly.” He grins, and it’s a scary expression.

“Going out in a fireball would be it for us, though,” Thundercracker says quietly. “The end of the Decepticons, the end of the Cause. At least this way we can still work towards that end, even if we’re working with you.”

“Desired: a future,” Soundwave says softly. Laserbeak leaves me to fly over and land on his shoulder, and he touches her back gently. “Decepticons: will concede. Autobots: superior.”

Now it’s him everyone’s staring at, and I have a strong feeling I’ve missed something.

“Well, we can certainly work with this,” Optimus says. “I’d suggest that the first point of order, before we start working out the details of the treaty, is that you send your injured mechs here, where they can receive the necessary repairs. Blast Off looked to be in sorry shape, is Blitzwing functional?”

“About on the level of the rest of us,” Scrapper replied. “He can make a trip or two, if you can fuel him. Astrotrain can get here himself, but he can’t carry anyone.”

“Skyfire will help, then,” Prowl says. “With Vortex and Brawl out of commission, I think we can also send the Aerialbots for escort.”

Optimus nods in agreement. “Then have Skyfire loaded up with enough energon to get all three shuttles back here. Scrapper, would you ask Hook to triage the Decepticons and have the ones he deems in worst shape sent first? Soundwave, is this agreeable?”

“Help: appreciated,” Soundwave replies, bending his head slightly. Scrapper’s got that faraway look I know so well by now.

“Good.” The Prime is smiling. I bet he’s thrilled that he finally gets to help the Decepticon soldiers instead of just sending them away to a bad fate. “Then if there is nothing else, shall we start?”

“Actually, there is one more thing,” Thundercracker says with a frown. “When we contacted you, we were trying to consolidate things as fast as possible, before the Decepticon army fragmented completely. As such, we had just sent one message to Cybertron, and that was sent as soon as we’d figured out the new chain of command.”

“Response: received yesterday,” Soundwave intones. “Shockwave: a problem.”

He puts a small projector on the table and activates it. The wall at the lower end of the table works as a screen.

I turn to see a strange, purple mech unlike any I’ve ever seen before. Apparently, it’s not a requirement for a Cybertronian to look vaguely humanoid.

 _“I have received the news of Lord Megatron’s untimely demise,”_ the mech says. His tone is even, calm. _“As Starscream was the one to do the deed, I consider him a traitor to his Lord and to the Cause, and he should be stripped of rank and rights. I myself am of higher rank than third in command Soundwave. It is therefore only logical that I assume command of the Decepticons myself. Any Decepticons not obliging with this will be punished in accordance with the rules of the Cause. Shockwave out.”_

None of the mechs around the table seem overly happy with this.

“Well, that ain’t good,” Jazz said.

“Agreed,” Soundwave says, as close to emphatically as I’ve heard him yet. “Shockwave: unsuitable for leadership.”

“And with Shockwave rogue, Cybertron’s lost to us,” Scrapper sighs. “I’ve spent time in his fortress. He’s got forces beyond what you expect.”

“Maybe so,” Optimus says slowly. “But I think we can figure something out. Prowl?”

“Did you let him know you were seeking an alliance with the Autobots?” Prowl asks. I turn on the table so I can see him.

“Negative,” Soundwave replies. “Time: insufficient.”

“We planned to have him come to Earth for a command meeting,” Thundercracker adds. “There’s a lot to discuss. But he just has to be a contrary slagger.”

“So he doesn’t know that the war is over,” Prowl muses, and there’s a distinct glint in his eye. “Is the space bridge operative?”

“As good as it gets,” Scrapper replies, shrugging. “Needs a pit load of energy to work, beyond what Cybertron can produce, but I guess you can supply that.”

“We can.” Prowl turns to his smaller, somewhat unnervingly grinning mate. “Jazz, take Bumblebee, and Mirage if he’s back, through the space bridge. Make contact with Ultra Magnus’ forces, and scout out Shockwave’s stronghold. You know what to look for.”

“Gotcha, Prowler,” Jazz replies with a grin. “We’ll hitch-hike over t’ the bridge wi’ Skyfire.”

“Soundwave: requests that symbiont be allowed to accompany.” Soundwave sounds hurried, almost as if he’s afraid that they won’t let him speak. “Ravage: can be useful.”

His dock opens, and a cassette jumps out. I’ve seen the process in reverse with Blaster and his team, but not like this. It’s… the only word I can come up with is trippy. Because the cassette is a cassette, an actual cassette tape, and somewhere between Soundwave’s chest and the table it turns into a cat. It – he? She? – looks a bit like Steeljaw, but also not at all.

“Hey, Decepti-kitty,” Jazz croons, and Ravage snarls. “Wan’ come wi’ me and th’ team to Cybertron?”

“Ravage: familiar with Shockwave’s stronghold,” Soundwave continues. “Also: maintains bond with Soundwave over distance.”

“Fair ‘nough,” Jazz agrees. “Play nice, cat, and we’re all good.”

“Skyfire waits, Jazz,” Prowl says softly. “You should go.”

“Yeah, I should,” Jazz replies, leaning in to press his forehead against Prowl’s. “I’ll see you again b’fore you even know I’m gone.” One giant metal finger touches my head. “Bye, sweetspark.”

“See you when you get back,” I reply, waving up at him. The cassette in front of me stalks to the end of the table and leaps easily to the floor, looking pointedly at Jazz.

“All right, I’m comin’.”

Optimus waits until the door shuts behind them. Then he looks around at the others. “Now. Shall we begin?”

I sit down on the table with my legs crossed. Something tells me this is going to be a long day.

_There. Is. So. Much. To. Discuss._

_Three whole days of talk. From morning to evening, every day. I feel like my brain is leaking out through my ears._

_I am never, ever going to be a politician._

_At least the first half of today is a break. There’s apparently some integration between the factions to be done, so their leaders need to be seen to set a good example. Or whatever you call it when Optimus is chatting easily to a very shell-shocked Reflector (or one of them – that’s one mech in three, or something, and I can’t quite wrap my head around it), or Thundercracker giving pointers to the Aerialbots. They’re eating up his words, Skydive and Air Raid in particular._

_Whatever the goal is, at least it gives me the chance to empty my head a bit. I’m completely overwhelmed here._

_First. The Decepticons have all come here. All of them. Skyfire and Blitzwing have been flying back and forth for the last three days, and now the Decepticon base is empty._

_I’m both happy and unhappy about that. So, I suspect, is everyone else. I mean, it’s a lot of ‘Cons. Right here._

_Though I guess that I should just trust that Optimus knows what he’s doing. Or at least have faith in his faith that it’ll work out. Or something._

_And it really looks to be working, so far. There are a few grumbles and looks, but nobody’s been fighting. Or even cussing at each other. That could be because half of the ‘Cons are in too poor a shape to do anything – heck, Ratchet had to set up energon drips upon arrival for three mechs who weren’t even on Hook’s critical list – and some of them just look grateful to have a place of safety, but still. The peace holds._

_And that brings me to second. The medbay’s got a triage tent in front of it. After Brawl, Ratchet worked on Astrotrain, whose fuel tank and complete energon processing system needed a complete replacement. There’s also something wrong with his intake, which is Cybertronian technobiology for throat, apparently, but Ratchet didn’t have the parts for that._

_It has more people than me wondering what the heck they’ve been fueling on, since quite a lot of them have something wrong with either fuel lines, tank or processing system. And their filters are all clogged, too._

_I’m learning a lot, sharing my bed with a medic. And Aid can speak freely, since I have a higher clearance than him._

_After Astrotrain, there was this little sports car type called Breakdown, who was actually breaking down. Ratchet’s working on him today. When he’s done, Bonecrusher needs all his fuel lines replaced, and a bunch of other work done._

_And those are just the most critical ones – there are another seven Decepticons waiting for less critical but still serious repairs._

_It’s insane. At this rate, it’ll be the middle of next week before I see First Aid again for anything more than the necessary recharge. He at least crawls into my bed to do that each night. Tired as pit and almost asleep before his head hits the pillow, but he gives the best cuddles._

_And third. The Transformers are prepping for war. And not the same way that they’ve been doing the last year while I’ve been with them.. This is different. This… This is Ironhide, standing with Skywarp and Onslaught, demonstrating a different kind of cannon and showing them how to mount it on their hips, and how the targeting works. This is Bluestreak and Blurr, burning down the runway with someone called Drag Strip hard behind them. This is Scrapper’s teammate Long Haul joining up with Motormaste, giving Trailbreaker and Cliffjumper as good as they get as the four of them leave base every day to haul resources and material for whatever they’re going to do on Cybertron. No one seems to be sure yet exactly what it is._

_This is –_

My pen is nudged away, and I look down at my visitor with raised eyebrows. This is apparently Laserbeak, putting her head on my journal to get some human attention.

 “Hey, baby girl,” I say, pulling my comm phone out and calling her. “What’s going on? Break over?”

*No,* she replies. *I wanted you to meet my brothers.*

I wince. “Laserbeak, I don’t think – I mean, they tortured me.”

*Oh no! No, not those cretins,” she replies, and I have to giggle at the way she says ‘cretins’. Her accent is adorable. *I have two more brothers. They’re both fliers. Want to meet them?*

More flying cassettes? “Okay,” I agree. I glance over to where Blaster is standing, discussing something with Scrapper. “Is Eject meeting them too?”

*Let me have him to myself for a while longer,* she says, pleads almost. *They’re going to make enough fun of me as it is. But if you feel uncertain, why don’t you ask one of your friends to hang out with us? They can’t all be busy.*

“I guess.” I text Alice real quick and ask her to come over with Benji, while considering which Autobots are available.

Turns out, I needn’t have thought too much about that. We’re apparently already a strange enough gathering that at least one mech finds us fascinating.

“Isobel? Can I sit with you?”

I turn towards the voice and smile up at the holoform above me. “Sure thing, Fireflight. Have you met Laserbeak?”

“Not officially,” he replies, smiling as he sits. “Hi, Laserbeak. I’m Fireflight.”

*The Aerialbot who always crashes into trees,* Laserbeak replies, chirping. *It’s nice to meet you.* She turns slightly towards the hangar behind us. *Here come my brothers.*

I look up as someone who I would have recognized anywhere as a Laserbeak’s sibling comes flying out of the hangar. He soars gracefully, angling his wings as he moves in a slow turn over us before landing softly just behind his sister.

*Isobel, Fireflight, this is my brother Buzzsaw,* Laserbeak says. The other cassette nods at us.

Then there’s a ruckus, and someone else comes almost crashing out of the hangar.

“Sorry, sorry!” he squeaks. “I sorry!”

He swerves, spins, and then flops more than lands in front of us.

Laserbeak sighs. *And this is Ratbat. He’s the baby.*

“Not a baby!” Ratbat replies shrilly, turning towards her. “You big meanie!”

“It’s nice to meet both of you,” I interrupt, hoping to stave off the oncoming sibling fight.

Buzzsaw eyes me, then looks down at my phone. The screen lights up again.

*Hello,* a new voice says. He sounds like Siri, same as Laserbeak - if Siri was a tenor with a cultured British accent. *I took the liberty of hacking this. You’ll find me under ‘Mark’.” Buzzsaw turns his look towards Fireflight. *You’re the Aerialbot who’s always crashing into things.*

“Yeah,” Fireflight replies with a giggle. “That’s me. I’m Fireflight.”

*I know,” Buzzsaw acknowledges, like it’s a given that he knows who everyone is. Which, given his carrier’s job, perhaps it is. *How do you do that, anyway? Shouldn’t a flier be better at – well, flight?*

“I’m easily distracted,” Fireflight explains, still with that smile on his face. “Sometimes the scenery sneaks up on me.”

“Scenery can’t sneak,” Ratbat says, crawling forward until he’s almost in Fireflight’s lap. “Why you look like this?”

“It’s my holoform,” Fireflight explains. “Do you like it?”

Ratbat tilts his head slightly as he surveys the form in front of him. “It’ll do.”

I snort.

“INCOMING!”

I turn towards Alice’s voice just in time to be bowled over by a big black shape.

“Sorry, he got away from me,” Alice pants, dropping down next to us. “Benji, get off. Honestly.”

“A dog!” Ratbat squeals. And then my guardian schnauzer mix gets a bat mechanoid backpack.

Thank God I’ve spent some time desensitizing him and getting him used to the Autobots. I’d much prefer not getting on Soundwave’s bad side again, and I would be if I let my dog eat his baby. As it is, Benji at least gets off me to investigate the new playmate on his back.

“Hello,” a deep voice says. “Can I join you?”

I turn and look up. And up.

It’s Thundercracker. It has to be.

But I don’t know what he’s done to his holoform.

Oh, most of it’s normal enough. Your regular holoform-class of gorgeous – sharp features, soft, gorgeous mouth, straight hair so black that it highlights in blue tied back in a ponytail. But it ends there. Thundercracker’s shoulders are wide, but his hips are narrower than you’d expect, and though his legs look strong he still looks skinny.

Plus, it looks like his feet aren’t actually touching the ground. They seem to be hovering an inch or so over it.

“Um.” Alice says. “Hi.”

“Alice, this is Thundercracker. He’s part of the Decepticon command delegation,” I explain. “Sure, sit. If you want.” If you can, I mentally add, since his holoform doesn’t seem to be settling completely on the ground.

Thundercracker holds out a hand towards Benji. Since my dog is made from about ninety percent careless happiness, he nuzzles right into it.

I just watch as the big, bad Decepticon gets slobbered over by the Earth canine. Buzzsaw makes a noise that I can only interpret as disgust.

“He’s… soft,” Thundercracker murmurs.

“He is,” I agree. I lean forward to show him, guiding Thundercracker’s hand to where I know scratching will turn Benji into a boneless pile of cuddles. “There you go.”

Benji flaps over into a very surprised Thundercracker’s lap. Mission accomplished.

I lean back against the wall and close my eyes, happy to just absorb the warmth and let the conversation flow around me. Alice and Laserbeak hits it off, which is no surprise, and every now and then Buzzsaw’s pointed commentary interjects, though he seems mostly interested in grilling a still happy Fireflight on why he’s so distracted all the time and why it causes him to crash. My phone is open on my lap with the call set on speaker, and somehow Ratbat’s ended up in my lap, asking Alice endless questions.

It’s almost blissful. Feels like hanging out with friends.

And then Ratbat perks up, suddenly standing in my lap. “Ravage,” he chirps.

“Ravage?” I ask, instantly alert.

Laserbeak lifts her head, looking towards the runways. *Yes. Ravage is coming.*

I look where they’re looking. Buzzsaw alights and flies back to a waiting Soundwave.

Across the runway, Jazz and Bumblebee walks down Skyfire’s ramp, and I can’t believe I didn’t hear him landing. I must have fallen asleep or something. Ravage is loping in front of them, strangely graceful.

Behind them, a strange, big mech I’ve never seen before exits the shuttle. He’s big enough that he has to duck to leave Skyfire’s hold. His face is masked and visored, and it kind of reminds me of the Combaticons and also not at all. He’s easily Onslaught’s size, too. And there are large, cowl-like protrusions behind his shoulders.

“Ah, frag,” I hear someone curse. “They’ve gone and brought back Grimlock.”¨

Grimlock?

As I watch, Optimus comes walking past the hangars. Almost as if he’s sent out a signal, Scrapper appears, then Wheeljack. Prowl, materializing almost behind Jazz, gravitating to his side. Ironhide, brushing his way past Onslaught and falling in at Prime’s side.

I push against the wall, standing up. Shake my dumb left leg, still not quite back to normal. “Guess I have to go to work.”

Thundercracker pushes Benji gently away and stands up as well. Surprisingly, he reaches out to steady me. “We both do. Ready?”

I lean into the support gratefully. “Let’s go find out what’s going on.”

 

_What’s going on is…_

_It’s horrible. And I hate it. That’s what’s going on._

_Because Jazz sauntered into that command meeting, cocky as all hell, and announced cheerfully that they could ‘knock ol’ one-optic’s tower over wi’ a few good shots, no problem at all, mechs! He’s got one semi-loyal trine and a buncha drones, don’ know how he expected to be th’ boss, to be honest. And also, guess what, somehow Cybertron’s gone and landed itself in a stable orbit around a yellow star!’_

_I don’t know how to breathe properly._

_Cybertron’s landed itself in a stable orbit. Whether it’s with or without Shockwave’s help, no one seems to know. And the ‘Bots and the ‘Cons, they were so happy. Faces full of wonder. Wheeljack asking once, twice, three times, are you sure, Jazz? Are you sure it’s stable?_

_Every sign indicates it, Jazz replied, winking. He’d hacked Shockwave’s console. There were research projects, months’ worth of data to look through, because Shockwave’s monitoring the situation._

_And yeah, Perceptor’s going to look it over. Skyfire, too, and Wheeljack. But apparently, barring Starscream, Shockwave’s one of the best at these things, so if that’s the conclusion in the file – and it’s not just an elaborate ruse, which is well could be, even Jazz didn’t discredit that – then it’s correct._

_Cybertron’s in a stable orbit._

_The words just keep pounding in my head._

_The Transformers were thrilled. Why wouldn’t they be?_

_Because a stable orbit means regular access to energy. It means no longer wondering where your planet’s ending up, where to find it next time, how to power it._

_It means they can revive the planet. It means they can go home._

_I don’t want them to go home!!_

_And they were so happy, everyone grinning and excited, making plans and throwing out ideas for how to resettle and what to rebuild and the wording of the message that would need to be sent out into space to call everyone home and how to run the rosters to secure maximum integration of the two factions as well as the highest efficiency of rebuild. They made more progress to their peace treaty after Jazz dropped that bombshell on them than they did in all those meeting hours leading up to it._

_But I could just feel the floor dropping away beneath me. I tried to smile, to be happy for them._

_But I couldn’t. I still can’t._

_Not when it means that they’re leaving me._

_Oh, no plans have been made yet. I don’t think they even drew the connection between resettling on Cybertron and leaving Earth. And there are a lot of obstacles to bypass still. Grimlock, that mech they brought back, is part of a team of five who were sequestered on Cybertron a few years ago to work with Ultra Magnus. He was less optimistic than Jazz about their chances to take down Shockwave – I think Jazz was so happy about Cybertron being in stable orbit that he sweetened the bad more than he had basis for. I don’t really blame him. But Grimlock said, and I quote, because this ‘Bot’s speaking pattern makes even Soundwave’s sound downright normal: “If us Dinobots no manage to knock him Shockwave down, him Shockwave not coming down in a hurry”._

_Charming._

_Also, Dinobots. That has to mean something. I’d look through my files, but frankly I’m too disheartened to care right now._

_I wonder when they’re going to realize what has to happen._

_I wonder how I’m going to survive when they do leave. It was bad enough once, when I was going just an hour away within easy comm reach. Now they’re heading into space, across the galaxy, and there’ll be no way to contact them._

_I can’t think about it anymore. Not if I want to be a functioning human being._

_I’d better get going. There’s lots to do still._

 

“According to the intel that Ultra Magnus supplied, there’s no weak spot on the surface,” Prowl says, pointing at the images showing on the back wall. “The aerial surveillance Swoop has provided indicates that he only has the one trine plus Sunstorm, and he isn’t using them to capacity.”

“Shockwave: prefers drones,” Soundwave agreed. “Drones: less independent.”

Prowl nods. “Exactly. We should still expect resistance from his seekers, though.”

The image changes. “There are a multitude of tunnels crisscrossing the layers beneath his stronghold,” Prowl continues. “These have been scouted extensively by our troops, and we can count the intel as reliable, if a bit dated at this point. Grimlock?”

The giant Dinobot stands and walks over to the wall. “Him Swoop say weak points in walls are here,” he says, pointing. “Him Kup says tunnels run under here too. This point the best for attack, me Grimlock thinks.”

“If we can destabilize the walls from above and below,” Scrapper muses, “we should easily be able to bring the wall down.”

“Leaving the way open for our forces,” Wheeljack finishes for him. “That would work. Then the drones will focus on that one point. And if we have enough fliers, I’m sure I can devise something we can drop on the damn things so they’ll be easier to take down.”

“Mixmaster can help,” Scrapper agrees, and his grin is feral.

“Good, work on that.” Prowl turns his focus on me, and I know it’s time for my one task in this meeting. “Isobel, what is Ratchet’s verdicts on our troops?”

I pull my notes closer. There’s no way I’ll be able to remember all these names otherwise, not with the way my heart is pounding. “You’ll have four complete gestalts,” I begin, following my own bullet points. “Menasor will be out of it, as both Wildrider and Breakdown will have to be kept from battle. Wildrider needs his entire sensory net rewired, apparently, and Breakdown has serious coding issues that can’t be left untreated. Perceptor is working with him now. Aside from that…” I glance at the rest of my list. “Astrotrain is functional, given that he gets a few days for his repairs to set. Ratchet’s still working on Vortex, but he says he’ll be done by tomorrow. Then he has to handle Reflector and Dirge, both of whom have had pretty nasty viruses in their systems that have caused a fair bit of damage, and he still has a slew of Decepticons to run flushes and filter changes on. Providing the assistance of First Aid, Hoist and Hook,” I look at Scrapper, and he nods, “Ratchet estimates that everyone waiting for repairs will be done within a week.”

“We need Vortex functional,” Thundercracker muses. “He’s a bit of a wild card, but Bruticus won’t work without him. Reflector is less critical and can probably be kept out of battle, but we need Dirge.” He looks at me. “Will all repairs be done within a week?”

I consult my notes. “Yes,” I reply, scanning the page. “Though Wildrider, Breakdown and Reflector will need additional work, and shouldn’t be fighting yet.”

“Good. Thank you, Isobel.” Prowl turns towards Grimlock next. “And Ultra Magnus’ forces?”

Grimlock shrugs. “Him Swoop learned some while apprenticing for Ratchet, but him not a medic yet. It okay, but need some work still.”

Prowl and Optimus exchange looks, and Optimus turns towards Wheeljack. “How are our energon reserves?”

“Not enough to power the space bridge for long enough for everyone to pass through,” the scientist replies. “We can keep it open long enough for most of us, but not for all.”

Prowl nods. “We’ll send the fighters through to ensure that we can hit as hard as possible as fast as possible. Astrotrain can remain behind and take the noncombatants and whichever medic is left behind to Ultra Magnus’ base of operations before joining the skirmish.”

“That would solve it,” Wheeljack says, writing something down on his datapad.

“The space bridge is partially wired into Shockwave’s power grid,” Scrapper says slowly. “If we were to blow it –“

“- we could blow the fortress with it,” Jazz agrees, giving Scrapper a new look. “Mech, you have a devious mind. I like it.”

“If we blow the bridge, we won’t have an easy way to return here,” Optimus points out.

“We’ll have the shuttles,” Thundercracker replies. “Four of them, now. Should be enough for an emergency, should we need it.” He looks around at the others. “With Cybertron in stable orbit, we shouldn’t need Earth.”

I wait for them to get it, because how can they not get it, after a comment like that?

…They don’t get it.

“That’s true,” Optimus says, frowning. “I don’t like the idea of destroying it, though. It would be a valuable tool. Prowl, what do you think?”

“If it can buy us an advantage, I’m all for it,” Prowl says bluntly. “Thundercracker’s right. Provided the data about Cybertron being in a stable orbit is correct, we shouldn’t need Earth’s energy. And if we do, we can have Astrotrain or Skyfire travel back and forth. The tactical advantage of taking it down outweighs its potential usefulness in the long run.”

“Shockwave should have the plans in his database,” Scrapper muses. “We should be able to rebuild it, if needed.”

 “We need to leave one team behind to blow the bridge from this end,” Scrapper says. “If we destroy it on Cybertron, the backlash will hit Earth, and that is the opposite of what we need.”

“Who’s the best bet for bringing it down?” Optimus asks.

Jazz looks back at him. “That’d be me, O.P. I’ve made plans t’ do so b’fore.”

Prowl nods, and there’s an air of relief over it. I’d bet he’s happy that Jazz will be out of the front lines for at least a little longer. “All right. Pick a team.”

“Don’t need a team if no one’s defending it,” Jazz grins, all cocky again. “Gimme Skyfire, to take me there. And Defensor, in case we do encounter something hostile in space. You’re goin’ t’ need the Aerials t’ handle the drones.”

No. No no no no no no no –

I can’t breathe properly.

But I _refuse_ to lose my cool here.

“Good,” Optimus says, settling it. I feel like I’m on a different plane of existence than the rest of them. “Prowl, see to it that the finished plans are forwarded to me later today. Wheeljack, check with Perceptor how his analysis of Shockwave’s data is going. We’ll take a break and reconvene later.” He stands, stretching, and I can hear the whines and squeals of his metal frame from here.

As everyone gets up and starts shuffling towards the door, Jazz scoops me up. He’s my designated ride for the day.

I look up at him, putting on what I hope is an encouraging smile. “So when are you leaving?”

He freezes, staring down at me. So does Prowl, next to him.

“Oh, pit,” Jazz breathes. “Oh, pit, sweetspark, we’re leavin’.”

I nod, pushing my lips into a firm smile to hide the trembling in the lower one. “That’s what I said.”

“That didn’t even occur to me,” Prowl says slowly, looking at me with wide optics. “I should have seen it. We’re going home. And we’re leaving you behind.”

Wheeljack pauses at that, and Optimus stops and turns around.

“That was always going to happen,” I point out, eager to end this conversation quickly because I won’t break down in front of them, dammit. “You were here to defend Earth against the Decepticons. Well, that’s not necessary anymore. Of course you’re leaving.” I prod at the palm I’m sitting on. “Now move. I have a session to get to.”

They’re all staring at me still, and I sigh. “You’re waiting for me to fall apart, aren’t you. I realized this yesterday, though, a day before the rest of you, and since Ratchet kept First Aid well through the night I’ve had ample time to fall apart. Besides, this isn’t about me. At all. You’re going to go take down Shockwave, you’re going to end the war that’s taken more of your lives than I even want to begin contemplating,” and Optimus winces at that, poor thing, “and you’re going to resettle your planet and live in peace. That’s important. And if that is conditioned on you leaving Earth, leaving me, within the next two weeks, well,” I shrug, “that’s how it’s going to happen.”

“Isobel,” Optimus begins, and I shake my head.

“Don’t. Don’t defend this, Optimus, because there’s no need to. Now, Jazz, will you move, or do I have to scale down your legs and walk out of here on my own inefficient organic limbs?”

He looks at me for a moment longer, inscrutable. Then he shakes his head and smiles slightly, though it’s a grim look. “Ratchet’d have my bolts if I let you climb down.”

“Good.” I nod decisively. “Then take me to my office, stat!”

He chuckles, and I swallow against the lump in my throat. I will not break down again right now, it’ll have to wait until I’m done with my session. Then I’ll be able to do so in peace.

 

I look up at the Decepticon standing in front of me. “I think we need to find another venue. You won’t fit in my office like this.”

Skywarp grins at me. “Hello, human. We have to stop meeting like this.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him. Oh joy, Skywarp is another Sideswipe. “Like this? We’ve never met before.”

“True.” He bows elegantly, flaring his wings behind him and almost whacking a passing Grapple in the face. “I’m Skywarp, trinemate to Starscream, Air Commander of the Decepticons and Winglord of Vos.”

I need to consult my files again. At least I remember that Vos was their city.

“I’m dr. Isobel Harrington,” I reply, “psychologist specializing in PTSD in soldiers, previously employed by NEST and the US army but now independently working with the Autobots as a medical specialist. Hi.”

“Hi.” He laughs. “I guess I really am too big for your office, huh?” He transforms down until it’s the purple jet alt mode is sitting on the tarmac. The blue sparks solidify in front of me. “Well, lead on inside then,” Skywarp says.

I just stare in surprise.

I’d known that the holoforms were constructed primarily to interact more easily with humans should the Cybertronians have need of that. I’d also known that the Autobots had chosen to have them fit in with our social constructs and societal expectations, and that many of those felt artificial and irrelevant to them. It also stood to reason that the Decepticons, who didn’t work with humans and probably just had their holoforms in case they had to obtain something more sneakily than simply landing by a building and tearing its roof off, would have had less reason to conform to those constructs and expectations than the Autobots have.

None of that had prepared me for Skywarp’s holoform being female.

He – she? I’m a bit confused; I know they don’t really have gender, but I don’t know any words for all-gender/no-gender or whatever is right – grins at me, one dark, shapely eyebrow arching under heavy dark curls.

So I snap out of it and turn towards the small administrative building behind me. “Follow me.”

The building is all offices, not something I’d choose for myself. But there’s not much space available to the Autobots, and my old office is barred to me since I’m technically not supposed to be here.

I sit down on a chair, leaving Skywarp the couch. He sprawls on it in a way that I’d tag as completely masculine. “So how do we do this?”

“I ask you some questions to get you going, and prompt you when you falter, and then we see what happens,” I reply. “It’s fairly standard. Since you don’t have any specific issues you wanted to discuss, I figured I’d start by asking you how you found life at an Autobot base.”

No specific issues indeed. Skywarp is only doing this to screen me for working with Starscream. Neither he nor Thundercracker trusts me yet, which is fair enough, so they’re doing this to see if a puny human like me can even be of help so someone as awesome as them – Skywarp’s words, not mine.

Though I guess it’s a moot point now, anyway. Starscream will be sent in Astrotrain along with the rest of the injured bots, in a specialized suite (or cell, really) that will be secured to the shuttleformer’s cargo bay. I won’t ever get to treat him.

Hopefully they can find someone else.

“It’s okay enough,” Skywarp replies, breaking into my thoughts. “The Autobots are all crazy, of course, but we knew that. Hey, I have a question for you.” He looks at me shrewdly. “You’ve spent the last days in those meetings, TC said so. Sounders is at those meetings too. How can you sit there with him, knowing he did all that stuff to you?”

I blink. “You know about that?”

His smirk widens. “Of course. I blackmailed it out of Rumble, wanted to know what the hell he was tiptoeing around all guilty about. I thought it would be something fun like a prank gone wrong or something.”

Huh. Well, I guess it’s at least good to know that Rumble feels guilty. “Honestly? I grin and bear it.”

He arches an eyebrow at me. “Grin and bear it?”

“Sure.” I nod. “Don’t tell me that the idea that you pretend something bad didn’t happen just so you can move past it and get on with what you have to do is a new thing to the Decepticons?”

“No,” he says, surprisingly somber and eyeing me with a new measure of respect. “No, we do that. Star’s especially good at it.”

Yeah, I bet he is. Also, the fact that I only gained Skywarp’s respect after proving that I can take the bad stuff and keep going is a bit of a sad measure of the Decepticon psyche. I hope there’s still room in there for  appreciating such things as skills and knowledge and kindness and trust and such, or we have a long road ahead of us.

Not we. The Autobots. The Autobots have a long way ahead of them.

This is going to take a lot to get used to.

 

I’m already in bed when First Aid comes in. He wastes no time, just crawls into bed with me and pulls me close, burrowing into my neck.

His face is wet.

“You’ve heard,” I whisper.

First Aid just squeezes me closer. “Jazz told me. He figured I should get –“ he draws a deep, shuddering breath “- I should get as much time with you as possible. Before we have to leave.”

I twist in his arms until we’re face to face. “This is… I can’t really believe it.” My nose rubs against his. “I can’t believe you’re leaving. I don’t - I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

“I feel like I’m leaving my spark behind,” he whispers. “That whatever they take away from here will be nothing but an empty shell.”

“Don’t say that,” I murmur back, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “You have your brothers. You have the Autobots.”

“But I won’t have you,” he says, and it’s almost a whimper. “I won’t have you, love, and I don’t know how I’m going to make it, I really don’t, I’m already being torn to pieces.”

“Me too,” I reply, and now the tears are flowing freely down my cheeks as well. “I love you, First Aid.”

“I love you, too,” he moans, “more than anything, more than I’ll ever love anyone, I swear.”

Somehow, our heated confessions turn into equally heated lovemaking. First Aid never lets me go, never pulls back, just eases closer and closer until it feels like we’re almost one being, connected. I hide my face against his shoulder, crying even as I’m climaxing, trying to savor and to commit everything to memory. I don’t want to forget anything – I want to remember his smell, the way his holoform hair feels when I slide my fingers through it, the way he tastes, how his lips move against mine. The slow, smooth glide of our bodies, fitting together perfectly, as if First Aid has engineered his holoform to match my body.

He might even have done so.

Most of all, though, I’m trying to absorb his voice. I want it in my very being, where I can call it up when I need it. I want my mind to be full of First Aid, until it becomes impossible to forget him. From the way he’s frantically moving against me, I’d say he’s trying to do the same thing.

None of us get much sleep.


	38. I'll leave my love between the stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried all the way through writing this chapter. So brace yourselves.

_The Autobots have figured it out. They’ve started saying goodbye._

_We’re still some days away from the planned departure date. Ratchet’s asked for at least four days for what’s left of the necessary medical treatments. Then he’s leaving on Astrotrain with Breakdown, Wildrider, Reflector, Perceptor and Starscream, at least. I may have forgotten someone._

_Perceptor came to see me today. I’ve never talked to him much, but he shook my hand and told me it had been an honor making my acquaintance. He was succeeded by Grapple and Hoist, both hugging me, and then Skids and Mudflap, who I haven’t really seen since Halloween. Turns out they’ve been on a training mission or something to teach them discipline._

_That was probably a good idea. They seem much more mature now._

_Skyfire came by, and that was heartbreaking. He wanted to say goodbye in private before they left, even though he’s one of the last ones leaving. He’s not good in public, he says, and he wanted to make it clear how much he appreciated me and how much he’d miss me. He said I’d been amazing._

_I hugged him for at least twenty minutes. In the end I was curled up in his lap, crying my eyes out._

_I’m crying all the time now._

_I cried like a baby when Mirage and Hound came by. They’re being sent back to Cybertron along with Ravage, Thrust (still don’t like him) and Ramjet, who I haven’t met, to work with Ultra Magnus’ team. Even though those two gave me quite a lot of grief, I can’t help being fond of them._

_That’s what this is kicking into sharp relief for me. I care deeply for every single Autobot._

_I don’t want to say goodbye to Blaster and Arcee. To Bumblebee and Bluestreak. Fireflight and the other Aerialbots._

_The twins._

_Jazz and Prowl._

_Optimus._

_Ratchet._

_The Protectobots._

_I don’t know how I’m going to survive this week._

 

“Well, Isobel,” Sideswipe says softly. “This is it.”

He and his brother cornered me on my way from the command meeting to get my lunch, sneaking me off to their room. I’m quickly sandwiched between them in their sofa.

It looks like it did last time I was here, except not. It doesn’t take me long to see that their gaming consoles are gone, as is their massive collection of movies.

“You’ve packed,” I observe. “Going to inviting Shockwave to a gaming night?”

“I’ve got everything in my subspace,” Sideswipe explains. “I want to make it work back home, maybe make a big version.” He nuzzles into my hair. “I don’t want to forget this place.”

Sunstreaker just clings to me. His face is in the crook of my shoulder, his breath on my throat, and I feel like he’s never going to let me go.

“I’m going to miss you two like crazy,” I admit, trying to move as close to both of them as possible. “You know that, right? I love you two.”

Sideswipe takes hold of my chin and turns my face towards him. “We love you, too, you know.”

“I’m sorry,” Sunstreaker mumbles into my skin.

I turn towards him. “Sorry? Why?”

“For leaving you.”

“Oh, Sunstreaker, no,” I whisper, pushing his head up so I can look at him. “No, don’t think like that. You’re going home. You’re going to revive your planet. It’s important.”

“But I can’t defend you from Cybertron,” he protests, eyes wet, and this is part of the problem, isn’t it?

Emergency psych session time.

“Listen to me,” I say calmly. “You’re a brother to me. I love you a lot more than you think. But you’re not obligated to protect me. I won’t hold you back like that.” I cradle his face in my hands and lean my forehead against his. “Go home. Go build a better Cybertron. Paint. Make whoever will be in charge create funding for art and music and theater and all those things. Put your swords away. Give yourself a chance to heal.”

Sunstreaker’s crying now, and so am I. “You’re such a beautiful creature, Sunny,” I whisper, leaning in and trying my best not to look away. “Inside and out. And you need to go show them that. You need to find peace. You deserve that. You deserve it.”

Sideswipe’s pressed up against my back, shaking silently. “We’ll miss you so much,” he whimpers. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

I nod as Sunstreaker collapses into my lap. “Okay. I’ll do my best.” I sniffle and wipe the tears away with a sleeve. “Besides, I’ve survived torture and imprisonment by the Decepticons. I can handle humans, don’t you think?”

Sideswipe chuckles through the tears. “I bet. You’re tough.”

It takes almost an hour before I manage to leave them. As I do, Sunstreaker’s gorgeous Lamborghini form tears away from the buildings and speed down the road. Sideswipe’s right on his tail, keeping close to his brother.

Sunny’s burning off his grief and frustration. I wish I could do the same.

I’m still trembling as I make my way back to the meeting.

 

Jazz just holds me back after one of the meetings. He simply picks me up and cradles me close to his chest, before handing me off to Prowl to do the same.

“We’ll miss you, sweetspark,” he says softly, using Jazz’s name for me for the first time. “You’re an amazing person and a good friend. I’m sorry it ends like this.”

I wipe the tears away. “I’m not,” I say firmly. “Your war is over without any more loss of life.” Well, except Megatron’s, but I don’t really mind that. I don’t think anyone does at this point. “This is the best possible outcome, really.”

“That don’t mean it’s okay,” Jazz argues. “I hate leavin’ you, Isobel.”

“Well, I hate you leaving,” I reply. “But I’ll survive it. Somehow.”

Jazz just takes me back from his mate and holds me close.

 

“You should’ve been Cybertronian,” Fireflight says, hugging me. “Then we could have taken you with us.”

“I’ve wished for that more times than I can count,” I reply, hugging him back. “But you’ll be fine without me. And I’ll be here, safe, okay, for you to remember.”

“I’ll never forget,” he promises. “Never forget you.”

“Good,” I say intently. “Because I have no intention to forget either.”

 

Bluestreak finds me when I’m heading home, Blaster and Arcee right behind him. I’m encapsulated in a three-way hug, all of them clinging to me.

“I’m going to miss you something fierce, girl,” Blaster murmurs. “You’re a bright little sprite.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I reply, chuckling slightly despite the lump in my throat that’s threatening to choke me.

“It means you’re loved,” Arcee whispers. “You’re loved, and we think you’re amazing,”

Bluestreak’s just hiding his face against my shoulder.

“You’ll make a good future for Cybertron,” I whisper. “You’ll make it good. Make it worth leaving here.”

“Every minute,” Arcee says, kissing my cheek. “Every day.”

“Don’t forget us now, Isobel,” Blaster says, darks eyes glittering. “Keep doin’ good.”

Bluestreak whimpers.

“Love you guys.” I turn my head until I can kiss Blue’s soft hair. “Never forget me either, okay? I expect there to be a building named after me in Cybertron or something. Maybe a library, or an arcade.”

“Done,” Arcee says, smiling slightly. “Come on, Blue. We need to go.”

Bluestreak, uncharacteristically, doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me with a lost look on his face as he’s tugged away.

 

Being a shuttle, Astrotrain is naturally slower than a space bridge. I watch as he transforms in front of me, giant purple mech settling down as a large purple space ship.

It’s no shortage of impressive. Another aspect I need to try and remember.

As the shuttle hatch opens, Perceptor and Hoist wheel a stasis-locked Wildrider onboard. I can see a large dark box in there where Starscream will be sheltered when they pick him up.

Ratchet walks up to where I’m standing with Optimus and First Aid. “Well, that’s it then,” he says gruffly. Behind him, Reflector – all three of him, which I still don’t understand - walks unsteadily up the ramp. “We’re ready to take off as soon as the other patients are settled.”

“Safe journey, my love,” Optimus says softly, leaning in to briefly press his lips to Ratchet’s. “I will see you on Cybertron in a few days.”

Still so damn cute.

“Bye, Ratchet,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and failing utterly. “Give them hell. And then fix them afterwards.”

He looks down at me and sighs. “Oh, sparklet.” Then he transforms, and in the next moment I’m engulfed in strong, holoform arms.

“I am so fiercely proud of you, kid,” he mutters, still in that gruff tone that’ll hide any form of emotion. “You’re the best this planet has to offer. Don’t ever forget that.”

I can feel my fists tightening on the very real-feeling fabric of his shirt. “I’m going to miss you so much, Ratchet. You’ve been like a father to me, you know that, right?”

“It’s been an honor, Isobel.”

When Ratchet finally releases me, my cheeks are wet again. I watch as he transforms back to root mode and turns around, walking with slow, even steps up the shuttle ramp.

He doesn’t look back.

 

_It’s funny how subjective time is. It’s not a smooth, even thing, passing slowly and continuously in the background. No. It skips, jumping ahead, then slows down until it’s almost excruciating to get from one second to the next._

_They’re leaving tomorrow morning. Through the space bridge. Then, around noon, once we can be sure that everyone’s away and in the clear, Jazz is blowing it up. Then the rest of them are leaving on Skyfire._

_I have to get through tomorrow somehow. Then I can cry for a solid week. And I mean to._

 

It’s not quite dawn when we start lining up by the space bridge. I’m standing slightly to the side of it with Jazz, Skyfire and the Protectobots, and the Cybertronian army is assembling in front of me.

It’s an awe-inspiring sight.

The faint morning light reflects off of sharp reds, vibrant blues, bright yellows and muted greys. Wheeljack’s white is edged with gold, while Skywarp’s purple is muted to an almost indigo tone. The space bridge itself is a gleaming silver, bright enough to make me look away.

Optimus makes a speech, of course. I don’t hear a word of it over the rushing in my ears. It seems to be inspiring and passionate, though, as I see more than one spectator nodding and grinning.

There’s a handover of something to Lennox, and Optimus salutes him and the rest of the NEST team. They’re all here today. He nods at the return salute, then turns towards Soundwave and Thundercracker.

Bumblebee’s suddenly in front of me, holoform smiling softly. I can see his lips moving, but I still can’t hear.

First Aid leans against my back, snaking his arms around my waist. “Easy, love. You need to breathe.”

I obey, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“I said, I guess this is it,” Bumblebee says softly, still with that gentle smile. “You’ve been awesome, Isobel. Best human we could have had.”

“Bye, Bumblebee,” I whisper. “Take care of yourself.”

“Always,” he promises, returning my hug. “You too. Love you.”

“Love you too.” I kiss his forehead, closing my eyes against the tears. “Now get back in formation before they leave without you.”

He chuckles at that. “Yes, ma’am.”

The blue sparks fade, and I’m gasping for breath. Only First Aid’s strong hold on me keeps me from breaking down completely.

I’m never going to see him again. Once they cross that event horizon, I’m never going to see any of them again.

Optimus steps forward, optics sweeping from left or right over the assembled crowd. “You all have your orders,” he says loudly. “You all know what we’re fighting for now. With that in mind…” He turns towards the spacebridge. “Cybertronians! MOVE OUT!”

I watch as the Combaticons all dart towards the open space bridge, followed closely by Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. The twins are whooping and shouting, running and leaping towards the bridge, and just as Sunstreaker turns his head slightly to meet my eyes, the space bridge fires up.

And then they’re gone.

The twins, my twins, are gone.

I can’t breathe.

I stand there, holding on to First Aid’s arms for dear life, trying desperately to pretend that this isn’t the last time I see any of them, that this is just a short goodbye, just so I can stay on my feet. It’s not working. Through a veil of tears I watch Rumble and Frenzy move up with Arcee and Chromia, and the space bridge swallowing my friends feels like a kick in the gut. The rest of the Stunticons go through with Cliffjumper and Smokescreen, and the others follow.

Blaster goes, one last wave in my direction. Soundwave alongside him and the Constructicons behind.

Thundercracker and Skywarp darting through with the Aerialbots behind them.

Bluestreak heads through, and I collapse. First Aid is holding all my weight now.

Bumblebee.

Wheeljack.

Prowl, walking through calmly.

At the last moment, while the others are still vanishing in silver light behind him, Optimus’ holoform appear in front of me.

“Thank you, dearest one,” he murmurs softly, kissing my forehead. “I will never forget you and what you’ve done for us. Be safe.”

Then he, too, is gone.

I can’t watch anymore. I twist in First Aid’s arms, hiding against his chest until the roar of the space bridge fades.

My friends – my family – are all gone.

“Come on, love,” First Aid murmurs brokenly. “We have a bit of time left.”

I nod and let him lead me away.

 

We end up on a bluff overlooking the base, First Aid and Groove and I. It’s a cuddle pile of sorts, with me leaning back against First Aid and Groove’s head in my lap.

“You know, I’m going to miss this planet,” Groove says, looking up at the sky. “It’s so pretty.”

First Aid squeezes me tightly. “I’ll be leaving my heart behind.”

“And you’ll be taking mine with you. But here’s the thing,” I say, twisting to look at him. “You’ll move on.” He starts shaking his head, but I just plow straight over him. “No, listen. Let me say this now, or I’ll never get it out. You’ll find yourself someone who deserves you, who’ll treat you right, and you’ll bond to that person and be happy. Both of you.” I look down at Groove, run a hand through his long hair. “There’s someone out there for you too.”

“I rather think we’re both leaving our someone behind here,” he says softly, looking at me. His blue-grey eyes are pulling me in, and my hand doesn’t stop moving in his hair. “It’s hard, even contemplating moving on.”

“But you will,” I insist, still drowning in those eyes. The impact of his words is staggering.

“Will you promise to do the same, then?” First Aid says, and I can hear how much effort he’s making to not fall apart. “Will you find someone to live out your life with?”

I turn to kiss his cheek. That’s at least the plan, but he turns as well, catching my mouth and kissing me back.

“I’m nearing halfway through my life,” I reply when he finally lets me go. “It’ll take me a good long time to stop grieving this. I’ll try. That’s all I can promise.”

“Then we promise to try too,” Groove says, taking my hand and squeezing it. “That’s all.”

“You’ll find someone,” I say, pushing as much confidence as I have left into my words. It’s not much. “You’ll find someone who’s as passionate as you are, who’ll love the energy you bring with you, who gives back as much as you give them, and who’ll be by your side forever.” I squeeze the hands holding mine; Groove’s in my right, First Aid’s in my left. “You’d better. Because I can’t come with you, so you better find yourselves someone who can take care of you for me.” And now I’m crying again, damn it.

It doesn’t matter, though. Because my boys – and damn, how upsetting it is that it took me so long to realize – are crying too. Groove twists in my lap until he’s pressing his face against my stomach, one arm behind my back and holding me tight. First Aid’s face is buried against my neck, and I’m shaking with the force of his sobs.

I can’t let myself fall completely apart, though. Not yet. So instead, I pull at Groove until he’s upright against me, and lean back until First Aid relents and lets us lie down.

“Come on,” I murmur, tugging at both of them until we’re close together, arms and legs tangled. “Can we lie like this for a while?”

First Aid nods behind me. “We have a while.”

In a different situation, I would have fallen asleep like this. Not today. There’s no sleeping today. There’s soft touches, gentle hugs, kisses, murmured phrases of affection. And lots and lots of tears on all our parts.

“It’s time,” Groove says finally, nuzzling my jawline before extricating himself from us. “Jazz is pinging me.”

I let myself be pulled to my feet, and we walk towards their alt modes still holding on to each other. Letting Groove go hurts me physically, and I can only be thankful that he doesn’t actually dismiss his holoform. I don’t think I could survive that at this point. First Aid’s holoform is at my side as we drive back down to the base, arms around me and face pressed into my hair.

We meet up back at the space bridge. Skyfire smiles at me before transforming, and I’m glad he doesn’t approach me – we’ve said our goodbyes, and I don’t have the heart to do so again.

Next to us, Alice is clinging to Streetwise. They’re both crying, but they’re smiling, too, and I don’t know what to make of it. Streetwise lets go of her briefly to walk over to me. Groove and First Aid move aside only reluctantly to let him hug me.

“Bye, Isobel,” he says, smiling through the tears. “Little sister. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” I reply. “Take care of your brothers, okay?”

“You know I will,” he agrees. “We’ll take care of each other.”

He’s barely moved aside before Blades takes his place, picking me up and hugging me tightly. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to.

“I’ll miss you, too,” I whisper. “Safe journey.”

Jazz has been talking to Hot Spot, but now they both walk over to me. “Well, this is it,” Jazz says, winking at me. “You’ll be fine, sweetspark. I have faith in you.”

“Thanks, Jazz.” I manage a smile. “Go get them.”

He grins, throws me a lazy, two-fingered salute. “Will do. And by th’ way, we left a care package in your house. Ya should check it out.”

I nod. “Sure thing. Be careful, okay?”

His grin turns wicked. “Meister don’t need t’ be careful.” The holoform fades away, and the silver form of his alt mode tears away towards the space bridge.

Hot Spot steps in to hug me. “You’ll be missed,” he says, his voice hitching. “A lot. Don’t doubt that.”

“I’m going to miss you all like crazy,” I sigh. “You better make Cybertron worth it.”

“It will be,” he replies, straightening. “We’ll make sure it will.” A last smile, a kiss to my forehead. “Take care of yourself.”

Then he’s gone.

I watch as he and Blades board Skyfire, and I can feel the change in focus as First Aid and Groove do the same without dismissing their holoforms. I have to look away from the shuttle at that – watching them drive onboard hurts too much to watch, even while they’re still holding me. Streetwise follows them, and then, suddenly, there’s only the holoforms left.

“Any moment now,” First Aid says. “Jazz says to get ready.”

I turn in their arms until I’m facing them again. “I love you, First Aid.”

He kisses me, a desperate edge to the gentle gesture. “I love you too, Isobel. Always will.”

I turn towards his brother. “And I love you too, Groove.”

He presses his forehead against mine. “As I do. In a different dimension, we’d have more time.”

“In a different dimension, we’d be the same species and I’d come with you,” I whisper, leaning back against him.

There’s a giant boom behind us, and Jazz whoops loudly. Skyfire’s engines fire up.

“This is wrong,” First Aid chokes out. “We weren’t supposed to end like this.”

“I know.” I press against his side. “You knew there would be a goodbye, though. This was never supposed to last forever.”

“I would have been with you for your forever. This isn’t long enough at all.” I can feel him sobbing now, his body shaking. “I love you so much. So, so much.”

Groove kisses my neck. It’s gentle, sweet, full of a feeling I can’t name, and I whimper.

“Goodbye, beloved Belle. I’m going to miss you every moment.”

I just sob, pressing against him until there’s nothing left to press against. Groove’s gone, and my heart is breaking.

First Aid catches me before I can fall, and I kiss him desperately.

“I won’t say goodbye,” he breathes. “I’ll just say I love you until I can’t say it anymore.”

I want to tell him to stay. To not leave me. But I can’t. He can’t. So I just kiss him, his mouth, his cheek, his hands, while he litanies his feelings to me and I cling to every part of him I can touch.

“I love you so much, Isobel,” he sobs. “I love you. I love your strength, and your spirit, and your courage. I love everything you are, and I’ll never, ever stop loving you. Never. I’ll love you until my spark fades, until I’m no more, and I’ll find you again when we’re both gone, okay?” He kisses me back, pulling me close and holding me tight. Above us, Skyfire moves higher in the sky.

Our last kiss is a hopeless, despairing thing, graceless and wild, as though we’re both trying to hold on to each other through sheer power of will.

Of course, it doesn’t work.

“Love you,” First Aid whispers.

And then he’s gone.

I look up as the shuttle blasts away. Skyfire’s almost out of sight already, taking my life and my heart with him.

 

It’s almost dark before I come back to myself. At some point in time I’d fallen to my knees, then down until I was curled up like a ball, lying on my side. My cheeks are wet, my throat aching and my eyes swollen. I’m cold, but I can’t feel it.

Alice is next to me, curled around my back. She’s been crying too, the back of my shirt is all wet.

“Oh, you two,” someone says softly, soothingly. It’s a familiar voice, but I can’t place it. I can’t place anything right now. My mind is numb.

Someone’s hands are on me, coaxing me to rise. “Come on, sweetheart,” the voice says. “You can’t stay out here.” The voice is comforting, caring, and I find myself moving as it asks, settling into a car. The owner of the voice fastens the seatbelt around me as if I was a little child, and mentally, at this point, maybe I am.

The car door closes as softly as a car door can, and Alice is maneuvered in next to me, the voice still crooning at both of us. The hum of the car engine is soothing. I close my eyes against the agony of the world and fall asleep.

 

Someone carries me inside, putting me down on a soft surface. It takes me a moment before my disoriented brain realizes that I’m on my own bed in my small house, inside the hangar that isn’t the Protectobots’ hangar anymore.

The thought is enough to make me start crying again.

“Shh now,” someone murmurs, and this time I recognize the voice. “Easy now, girl. Sit up and let’s get something warm into you.”

Catherine leans over the bed, easily hoisting me higher up and resting me back against a wall of pillows. Next to me, Parker gives Alice the same treatment. Her eyes are red, too.

“There, that’s better,” Catherine says, picking up a quilt and tucking it around me. “I don’t want you getting sick.” A mug of something hot is shoved into my hand, and for a moment I remember Groove’s hot chocolate and my heart constricts in my chest. Then the smell of hot tomato soup hits me, and I lean back and cradle the cup gratefully.

For a little while, no one says anything. Parker’s sitting on my giant bed, cradling her own mug, and Catherine’s standing behind her, fiddling with another quilt and arranging it across all three of us to her satisfaction. Then she sits down at the edge of the bed.

“I’m not going to offend any of you by asking if you’re alright,” she begins. “I just want to let you know that we’re here for you if you need anything. And I wanted to offer you the chance to talk about it, if you wanted to. I may not be the highest qualified mental health specialist in present company,” she smiles slightly at me, “but I’m not half bad.”

I should probably be a good example and talk first. But I can’t bring myself to open my mouth. That’ll make it all too real.

“I appreciate this,” Parker says, looking down into her cup. “It’s nice to be here with you right now. But I’ll get through this. I’ve been through worse.”

Catherine nods, scooting closer to the rest of us. “You and Bumblebee were close, weren’t you?”

“Sure we were,” Parker agrees, and their easy use of the past tense doesn’t escape me. For a moment, I’m furious at it. The flare of anger fades fast, though, as she continues speaking. “He’s probably one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” She looks up, meeting my eyes. “But I lost a friend. I didn’t lose a lover. And I certainly didn’t lose my entire adopted family.”

Alice sighs shakily. “I’m already missing him so much. And we both knew this wasn’t permanent. Heck, we weren’t really even very serious. Not like you.” A quick glance at me. “We never got to the happily-ever-after stage. But I still… I’m still heartbroken.” She manages a small smile and wipes at her eyes. “Is that weird?”

“Not at all,” Parker replies, shaking her head. “You were together. Of course you’re upset.”

I can’t do this anymore. I put my cup down on the nightstand suddenly, pull my legs up to my chest and hide my face against my knees.

“Isobel?” Parker’s voice is soft, as are the hands on mine.

“I can’t do this,” I mumble. “Not today. I’m not ready. I can’t talk yet.”

“That’s okay,” Parker croons, pulling me forward. “You don’t have to say anything.”

She settles me into her lap, letting me curl up like a baby. Catherine scoots up behind me, one hand on my back.

I get to hide there between them, pretending that the real world doesn’t exist. It’s just what I need.

“Stay,” I mumble. “All night. Please.”

“Sure,” Parker agrees. “We’ll be here. For as long as you need.”

 

_It takes a solid week, and then some. More than ten days of constant tears, bouts of apathy, dragging myself from the bed whenever my body’s demands couldn’t be put off any longer. Benji’s constantly by my side, and every part of my bed smells like dog, but I don’t mind – it’s a welcome reassurance that I’m not alone._

_Catherine keeps me fed, stopping by every night with something warm and nutritious. I eat because I have to, though everything tastes like ash._

_Alice is here a lot as well, chatting at me. She’s still struggling, still grieving, but she had a life outside of the Autobots. That support network is serving her well now._

_My lack of one has never been more apparent._

_Lennox came by once. I didn’t have the energy to talk to him. He talked to Catherine instead, promising that I could stay here on base for as long as I want to._

_I don’t want to stay. But I don’t want to leave. If I leave, it’ll be as if it wasn’t real. Strange as it sounds, this is the only place I can be sure to remember them. I’m scared to death of forgetting._

_I’m scared to death of letting myself think of them._

“I’ve put in for a transfer,” Alice says. It’s two weeks since they left, and I’m finally starting to feel remotely like a human being again.

“I can’t be here anymore,” the redhead continues. “I keep waiting for him to drive around the corner, or just materialize in front of me the way he used to. I need a change of scenery.”

“When are you going?” Catherine asks, handing me another plate of buttered crackers. She’s not satisfied with my weight, apparently – I lost some weight again while grieving.

“As soon as my request goes through,” Alice replies. “As soon as possible.” She looks at me, bright eyes begging me to understand. “I can’t stay here.”

“I get that,” I whisper. My volume is another thing that vanished in the last couple of weeks. “Where are you going?”

She shrugs. “Wherever. I don’t care.”

“I’m going too,” Parker admits. “I really should have done so a long time ago. This isn’t a good environment for me.”

I can understand that. Out of all of us, she’s the one who’s suffered the worst here.

“Transferring?” Alice asks, turning to look at her.

Parker shakes her head. “No. I’m resigning. I’ve gotten a job in Portland, training therapy dogs.” She looks at me. “It’ll be good for me.”

“It will be.” I sit up straighter, look at both of them. “You both look like you’re asking my permission. You don’t need that.”

“I feel horribly guilty, though,” Alice replies, biting her lip. “We’re leaving you. Just like they did.”

I shake my head. “There’s this new invention they made. A gadget small enough to fit in a pocket, meant to let you communicate with people over great distances. You might have heard of it? I think they call it a cell phone.”

Alice giggles. It’s a good sound. “You know, I do think I’ve heard of that.”

“Good.” I make the effort to smile back. “Because if you think I’m going to just let you walk out of my life without keeping in touch, you’ve got another thing coming.” I can feel my smile fading, and I sigh. “I can’t stay here either. I need to get back to living, even if I don’t know how. I’ll probably head back to my apartment and my job. University work would be good to me, help me get my head back in the game.”

Catherine looks from Alice, to Parker, to me. Then she leans down and pulls a crate out from under the bed. “I think this is a good time for this.”

The box is bigger than it seemed at first, wide and deep. She passes it too me, then bend back down to pull out two smaller ones.

“Jazz made me promise to make you open these when you felt ready,” the doctor explains. “I think today is a good day for it.” She nods at me. “Isobel, want to go first?”

She probably knows that I’ll lose my courage if I don’t open this right away. So I flip the catches and push the lid open.

At the top, there are bunches of letters. I recognize the handwriting on some of them, and shift all of them aside. I’ll read those later.

Underneath… There’s a large manila envelope. When I pick it up, it’s heavier than I expected.

“That must be Wheeljack’s gift,” Catherine comments. I suddenly notice she has a box of her own in her lap. “Jazz said he’d left one for each of us.”

I eye the envelope with a new worry. Then again, none of Wheeljack’s gifts for me have exploded yet. It’s probably safe.

I slide it open, and a heavy bunch of papers fall out. On top, there’s a formal-looking letter with the stamp ‘Patent granted’ on it. Beneath that, there is more official documentation.

“What is it, Isobel?” Alice leans forward curiously.

I pick up one of the letters. “It’s… the patent ownership and exclusive rights to a new kind of virtual reality computer chip,” I reply. I can feel my eyebrows climbing as I read. “Wheeljack invented it, and secured the patent in my name. If I sold this, I could make a fortune.”

“Jazz did say that Jackie wanted you to have a financially secure future,” Catherine muses. “This must be how he meant to accomplish that.”

I just stare at the paperwork. “It’s too much.”

“Well, you can’t give it back,” Alice says wryly. “Not unless you find a delivery company who’s willing to ship to Cybertron.” She burrows into her own box. There’s a pile of letters in hers too, and she shifts them aside. Underneath, there’s a manila envelope matching mine.

“What did you get?” Parker asks.

Alice empties the envelope, browsing through the paperwork. “Looks like a new type of scope.”

“I thought Optimus wouldn’t share weapons technology,” I object. “Surely Wheeljack wouldn’t have gone against him on that.”

Alice shakes her head, looking more closely at the documents. “It’s not a rifle scope. It’s meant for mounting on a helicopter or something. I don’t know what half of this stuff means, but it looks like it detects temperature differences and is meant for search and rescue. So, not a weapon.” She looks up. “What about you two?”

Parker’s already got her envelope open on her lap. Her box contained just a few letters and a framed picture aside from Wheeljack’s gift. “It’s for a 3D screen. A small one that can function on a cell phone.”

Alice grins. “Nifty. Catherine?”

“I don’t know,” the doctor replies, perplexed. “I know I’ve seen Ratchet use something similar to this. It looks like a medical scanner of some sort, but I don’t know how it would work on a human. I need to sit down and read these documents.”

Parker nods towards my lap. “What’s that, Isobel?”

I pull the envelope aside to look into my box again. There’s a large, leather-bound book in the bottom of the box.

I pull it out. It’s a photo album.

The others quickly group next to me, huddling against my back.

Alice snorts when she sees the engraving on the front. “’Experimental designs’. Nice.”

“Well, they’re supposed to be secret,” I comment, turning to the first page.

It’s Ratchet’s root mode and holoform.

Whoever took the picture of him as a robot got him mid-rant, wrench raised. The holoform picture isn’t much better, but there’s a familiar glint of humor in those eyes.

Wheeljack’s on the next page. Then Optimus, and Trailbreaker. Hound, Mirage, Cliffjumper, Smokescreen. No order that I can see. The Aerialbots, then Skyfire, Perceptor. I pause over the pictures of Prowl.

“We’re really never going to see them again,” I murmur. “They’re really gone forever.” Alice rubs her face against my shoulder.

“Would you rather that this hadn’t happened?” Catherine asks, looking down at the album as I turn the page. Bumblebee’s grinning up at me. “Knowing what you know now, if you had a choice, would you have wanted to never know them?”

“Not on your life,” Alice says fiercely. It’s only slightly ruined by her sniffling. “Streets is one of the better things to ever happen to me. I wouldn’t want to change that for the world.” She reaches down, touches the album carefully, almost reverently. “Tell me they’re in here.”

I turn the page again, passing Blaster, Chromia, Arcee. Red Alert and Inferno. Ironhide and Jazz.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. I take the tissue Catherine offers me and run it across my face, wiping the tears away.

The next page is Hot Spot and Streetwise.

“He’s so handsome,” Alice murmurs. Her hand hovers just above Streetwise’s page. “Look at him. You can see how good he is.”

“He loved you,” Parker whispers.

“He loves you,” I correct. “Enough with this past tense. They’re not dead. Streetwise will always love you. You’re a part of him, just like he’s a part of you.”

“Like you and them,” Catherine says, slowly turning the page for me.

The next page has First Aid and Groove.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Like me and them.”

Groove’s holoform is laughing. He’s got his head thrown back, a wide, careless grin on his face, eyes looking at the camera. His root mode is half turned away, looking towards something in the distance, but he’s still smiling.

“Groove’s always happy,” I murmur. “Even when he’s sad, he’s happy.”

“He’s grateful,” Alice corrects. “Streets always said that Groove is the one to just accept the world and his place in it, and be thankful for every little thing it gives him.” She looks at me curiously. “Did you know he loved you?”

“Not really.” I look at the holoform again. “Not until the day they left. First Aid hinted about it way back when I first met them, before Christmas, but I’d forgotten.” My fingers hover over the robot picture, tracing his outline in the air. “I wish he’d told me sooner. Though somewhere, on some level, I knew there was something. He was always more than a brother to me.”

“Is First Aid okay with that?” Parker asks. “I mean, I know they tend to share if that’s okay with everyone, but First Aid adores you.”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “We never talked about it.” And now we never will. Something tells me that First Aid would have accepted it, though, if it worked for me.

Which is another thing I’ll never find out.

Bracing myself, I look at the opposite page. My Protectobot is smiling up at me.

It’s the smile I love, that small expression that was always just for me. He’s standing inside my house, almost where we’re sitting, and is gesturing towards something, clearly in the middle of an explanation. The root mode picture is him in the medbay, blast mask retracted. He’s intensely focused on a tiny piece of machinery.

He’s beautiful.

“It’s so unfair,” I whisper, biting my lip. “It’s so fucking unfair. Why the hell did we have to be different species? Why couldn’t I get to keep him?” I don’t realize I’m sobbing until Catherine pulls me back against her body, hugging me close. “I would have given anything if I got to keep him.”

“I know,” Catherine sooths. “I know, Isobel. So does he. He misses you just as much as you miss him, I wager.”

“It is unfair,” Parker agrees. “You two were meant for each other.”

Alice leans up against me, her own tears making my shirt wet. “A fine pair of alien lovers we are,” she whispers. “And we can’t even see Cybertron from here.”

Catherine starts humming softly. It sounds like _Life on Mars_.

I let the familiar melody soothe me as I close the album, sliding it back into the box. “You think you’ll find someone else?” I ask Alice. “They told me to find someone else, but I can’t see myself doing that.”

“Yeah, Streetwise said that too,” she replies, hugging me. “I told him to shove it up his tailpipe.”

It’s such an Alice answer that I have to laugh. And it feels so good, so liberating, that when I’ve started I can’t stop.

“Should have thought of that,” I giggle. “Told them where they could stick it.”

“I also told him to ask Breakdown out,” she continues when our giggling finally quietens down. “And if that didn’t work out, that he should go try Astrotrain. Guy’s big, but he’s decent enough.”

“I don’t think First Aid will be moving on,” I sigh. “Not Groove, either. Though they did promise to try.”

“They live as long as entire planets,” Parker says. “They might, given time. But I don’t think they’ll ever forget you.”

I touch the necklace around my throat. I only take it off when I absolutely have to – it’s a physical reminder of them, and I’ve discovered I need that. “That’s good. Or I’d find a way to kick their asses. Afts.”

“I’d be right there with you,” Alice promises.

We sit in companionable silence for a while. I soak up the heat of the three women around me, taking comfort in their closeness. Soon, I won’t have this anymore.

“Isobel?” Alice sounds plaintive. “Will you be okay?”

I take a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’ll be okay. In time.”

Catherine begins humming again. _Rocket man_ , this time.

I’ll never forget. But maybe, maybe, I’ll be okay.

 

_“My dearest Isobel._

_When you read this, I’m further away from you than I’ve ever been. I can only look up at the stars each night and hope you’re all right. I wish I could stay with you forever, but we didn’t get that. And I’ll regret that every day._

_In a perfect world, I’d have stayed by your side. We’d have settled in a small city somewhere, with the rest of the Autobots in easy reach. I’d have worked in the local hospital, and you’d be in the clinic next door. We’d have lunch together as often as we could. I’d have come home to you every night, and lain beside you, just looking at you while you were sleeping. You’re beautiful when you sleep, love._

_You’re always beautiful._

_I would have aged beside you, my holoform following your lead, until we were both grey-haired and marked by time. If you wanted, we’d have adopted children, maybe be foster parents to troubled kids. I think we would have been good at that. A large family with you at its center, always caring and kind and amazing._

_I would have stayed by your side for the rest of your life. And maybe, when our grandkids’ grandkids were adults, I would have stopped missing you every moment of every day._

_Primus, I miss you, Isobel. I haven’t even left yet when I’m writing this, and I already miss you as if I was halfway across the galaxy._

_Would you have liked a life like that? We never discussed it, but I hope that you would. And if you didn’t, we’d do something else. Travel to see your world in all its beauty. Have Skyfire take us both into space (I’m sure NASA would have lent you a space suit if we asked nicely). Or spent our lives together on an island somewhere growing tomatoes or something, if that’s what you wanted._

_I’d have been happy doing anything with you._

_Be happy, love. Live your life, even though I’m not there to see it. Experience all the things you’ve wanted to experience. Live._

_I love you. Forever._

_Always yours,_

_First Aid.”_

* * *

**The End**

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, not really. Though this is the end of the main story arch. The one remaining chapter is an epilogue, a bridge of sorts to the sequel. So Isobel's story isn't over yet. There's more to come. Bear with me, friends. Chapter 39 will be up in two weeks. I did promise you a happy ending, and we're not there yet.


	39. What happens next

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, friends. Almost 285 000 words. 569 pages in Word.The longest text I've ever written (and that includes my Master's thesis). The biggest project I've ever undertaken.  
> Done.
> 
> Thanks for coming on this journey with me.
> 
> So what does happen next? The first chapter to the sequel will hopefully be up in two weeks - I'm keeping my schedule for that so I don't lose you guys on the way. After that, I'm taking a longer break from this story to finish a bunch of oneshots and ficlets that are waiting for me, and work a bit on the sequel. Then the sequel will begin posting sometime later this year. So keep your eyes open for "You had me at 'Cybertron'"!
> 
> And look me up on Tumblr! I'm BlushLouise there too. I'd love to be nagged about my fics :D

The island is small. I can walk around it in less than a day. The locals took ages to warm up to me, and it took me even longer to learn the language, but eight years here helped. I fit in now.

Well, as much as an outsider, a foreigner at that, ever can in a closed island community.

I whistle. “Come on, Dáire.” The small shepherd mix comes bounding up the hill after me.

The path isn’t well marked, but my feet know it well. I walk here from my little house every day.

I pass the chattering tourists with a smile and a nod, shoot a “Dia dhaoibh” at the two villagers coming the other way. It’s nearing the end of tourist season, and there’s preparations for winter to be made. They don’t get much snow and such here, but the weather can still get wild.

The wind crafted this landscape, after all. The wind and the waves.

After about half an hour of walking, I reach the cliff’s edge and sit down. The Atlantic Ocean stretches out in front of me, across the horizon. Nothing but water as far as the eye can see. I feel grounded here, connected to the ancient rocks beneath me. It’s one of the few places on this planet I feel like I can breathe.

It’s why I settled here. I travelled the world, after they left. Wheeljack’s invention took off, and combined with what I had left from selling my brother’s and my father’s flats I didn’t have to work for a while. Still don’t, although I do hold lectures now and then at the university on the mainland.

It’s a peaceful, calm life. But I keep coming back here, to Dún Dúchathair. The Black Fort. Just to breathe freely for a while.

Dáire runs wild behind me. He knows to stay away from the cliff’s edge. The locals say that the dog has more sense than me, since I tend to perch at the very edge, but I could never fall. The ground anchors me.

He’s my only company most days. Before him, it was Púca. He followed Kimji, the first dog I adopted after Benji had to be put down.

I never thought of myself as a dog person. Who knew. Parker’s very proud of me.

I don’t react at first when Dáire starts barking. It’s not a scared bark, it’s his ‘oh-my-goodness-new-people-I-can-beg-crackers-from’ bark. Probably another tourist straggler – the fort’s not marketed like the island’s other fort is, but there are a few faded sign posts leading up here, and tourists do find their way up here from time to time.

“Excuse me,” an American voice calls. “Is this the Black Fort?”

I know that voice.

“Parker?” I turn around so fast I have to hold on to the ground for balance.

“Hey, Isobel.” She winks at me. “It’s great to see you.”

“Oh my God, Parker!” I squeal, running towards her before I’m even back on my feet, almost falling on my face in my hurry. “You’re here! When did you arrive? How long are you here for? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

She hugs me back fiercely. “It was a sudden decision. I asked down at the pub, they told me where I could find you.”

“Yeah, I’m always up here. God, it’s so good to see you!” I grin and link my arm with hers. “So have you heard from Alice? She must be due any day now?”

“She had a son last week,” Parker confirms, pulling up her smart phone. A very happy redhead cradling a red-faced newborn is beaming up at me. There’s a slight curve to the picture, courtesy of the 3D screen that’s let Parker open up her own canine therapy clinic. “His name’s Daniel Streets Michaels.”

“Nice touch. He’s gorgeous.” I touch the screen carefully. “I’ll send her a message when I get my internet connection back up. Things take a while, out here.”

“I bet they do.” Parker looks out towards the sea. “It sure is majestic here, though. Like the land itself is ancient.”

I beam at her. “Exactly. It’s like a sacred place, this. God, I can’t wait to show you around. How long are you here for?”

“Well, about that.” She hesitates, then looks back at me. “There’s a reason I’m suddenly here. Someone came by, wanted to see you. Couldn’t find you, since you’re practically off the grid out here on this rock, so they tracked me down. I promised I’d take them to see you.”

I frown at her. “Someone to see me? Who?” Most of the ones I still keep in touch with know how to find me.

“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “Someone we never thought we’d ever see again.”

My heart speeds up as she turns us, making us face the way back to the village. There’s a figure waiting there.

I’m fairly certain I stop breathing.

The hair is the same. Still long, blond, tied back in a loose ponytail. A few stray hairs blowing in the wind over blue eyes.

That smile that was always just for me.

I’m running before I’ve even decided to move.

First Aid catches me, spinning with the momentum, holding me so tight that I can’t breathe. If there’s pain, I don’t notice. I just hold onto him with all I have, burrowing in against his neck, smelling that holoform scent I was afraid I’d forgotten.

“Primus, Isobel,” he sighs. “I’ve missed you so much.”

We stand like that for a few moments more, with him supporting most of my weight, before his arms loosen around me.

I stare into those eyes. “How – why – you’re here, why are you here? How did – but – and – are the others here to?”

“It’s a long story, and not one for out here,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against mine. “Do you have somewhere we can go?”

I nod, pulling back to reach for Parker’s hand. She’s standing a polite distance away. “My house. Down behind the village.” I turn to whistle for the dog. “Dáire! Gabh abhaile anois!”

He barks once, then runs ahead.

“Come on,” I say, tugging at their hands. “It’s not too far.”

 

My hands are shaking as I busy myself making tea. Remembering at the last minute who I’m actually preparing this for, and pulling out the coffee instead. Then looking at my hands to see how they shake, so I pull out the brandy. Put it all on a tray, digging up the smaller brandy glasses at the last minute, adding a packet of crackers from the pantry.

God, I can’t think.

I manage to get the tray to the dining room table without dropping anything, and sit down into my comfy chair with relief. Parker takes one look at me and picks up the brandy bottle, pouring a healthy dash of it into my mug before filling it up with coffee.

She glances at where First Aid sits stiffly in the sofa. “You better start talking. Or she won’t calm down.”

I hadn’t realized how close to a panic attack I am.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out,” First Aid begins softly. “I just – we came to find you. Cosmos, Smokescreen, Hound, Wheeljack and me.”

I stare at him. “You came back… to find me?”

“Start at the beginning,” Parker prompts him. “Don’t be confusing.”

“Yes. Right. Um.” He sighs, leans back. Leans forward again, elbows braced on knees. “So we won the battle. Shockwave was deactivated, though his Seekers came to our side. The peace was finalized, and we started rebuilding. A lot of mecha came back from wherever they’d been surviving. Ratchet and the rest of the medical staff were swamped. Everyone was in poor shape.”

“Drink, Isobel,” Parker says softly, and I raise my mug to my mouth mechanically.

“Anyway, we have a functioning society now. There are rules and a government and enforcers and plans for parks and housing blocks. We’re rebuilding in Iacon, and there’s talk of heading into Kaon next. The energon production is stable and high, Cybertron can support a growing population.” He looks at me. “But there’s one thing we don’t have. That’s why we’re here.”

He stands up, moves closer to me. “Isobel.”

“First Aid?” I look up into those blue eyes, and I don’t know what to think.

“I know I have no right,” he says slowly. “I know that just coming back into your life like this may well bring you more harm than good. And I know that I can’t expect you to not have moved on. It’s what we asked you to do, after all.”

“First Aid.” I put my mug back down at the table. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to ask you to come with me,” he replies, and the words are much simpler than their meaning. I lean back in shock. “I want you, we want you, to come back to Cybertron with us. We need your skill.” He reaches out, ever so carefully, and touches my hand.

I just stare at him. The words make no sense in my head.

“Apparently, they’re suffering from a lack of mental health specialists,” Parker explains, sitting down on the armrest of my chair. “Smokescreen told me about it on the way here. Starscream is still in isolation, and he’s not the only one. Vortex has trouble adapting. The Stunticons can’t be unsupervised either, for risk of hurting themselves or others. Plenty of neutrals have come back with issues as well, and there’s no one who knows how to even begin handling it. And that’s not even mentioning the more violent Decepticons that have cropped up since they returned. Ratchet is doing his best, but he’s a trauma surgeon, not a psychologist.”

“We need you on Cybertron, Isobel,” First Aid entreats. “We need your skills. And – and I miss you so much.” The words are rushing out of him now. “I miss you all the time, and I know it’s not fair to throw this on you now, you might have moved on for all I know, and you might – you might not want me anymore, and –“

“Hush.” I raise a hand to cut off his rambling. “Let me see if I’ve understood. Cybertron needs a psychologist.”

He nods, seeming almost relieved. “Yes.”

“And you thought the best idea would be to come get me.”

“Yes.” Another nod.

I stare at him again. “How would that even technically be possible?”

It’s hard to keep the incredulousness from coming through in my voice. I mean, I’ve fantasized about him coming back. Sweeping me off my feet and carrying me into the sunset, staying with me for a happily ever after.

The key word is fantasy, though. I never expected anything like this to actually ever happen.

“Wheeljack’s devised a suit,” First Aid explains. “It’ll let you function in Cybertron’s environment. And Mixmaster has been working with Skyfire to create nourishment that works for humans. There’s even talk of building a dome.”

“And for the actual journey there, you’d be in stasis,” Parker adds. “Wheeljack told me about it. He’s created a pod for you, where you’ll be put into a deep sleep of sorts until you get there. Cosmos is a space ship, he’ll be your transport.”

“Assuming I agree to this.” I steel myself against the sudden hope in First Aid’s eyes. “How do I not die of old age or sickness or radiation poisoning or whatever before getting there? I may have matured by another decade, but I’m still a frail human.”

To my surprise it’s Parker that answers, and she does so with a snort. “Please. Give Wheeljack some credit. Your body won’t age a day in transit. It’s the ultimate anti-aging.”

I turn to her. “You think it’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.” She raises a hand to cradle my cheek. “And let’s face it, Isobel, you haven’t moved on. You tried, for a while, but then you found a place where you can breathe and function moderately, and you just stayed here. It’s like your life is just an existence – there’s no progress, no change. You learned a new language and get a new dog every few years. But you haven’t actually moved on.”

First Aid’s quiet. I think he’s afraid to interrupt.

“You think I should do this,” I whisper, looking up at Parker. “Despite the risks.”

“There are less risks than you think,” she replies. “And even if there was a high chance that going there would kill you, I think there’s a bigger chance that staying behind will. If you don’t do this, Isobel, you’ll be wasting away here. You’ll be grieving until you just fade one day. So yeah. I think you should do it.”

I stare blankly into the air until Parker sighs. Another gentle touch to my cheek has me turning my focus to First Aid. “Isobel. Look at him.” Parker’s stern now, her no-nonsense ‘you can do this’ voice. “He’s here. For you. Can you really bear seeing him leave you behind again?”

…no.

No, I can’t. She’s right, that’ll kill me as surely as an explosion in space would. Less instantly, definitely, probably over several years, but I would never bounce back.

I will never move on.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Okay. Okay, I’ll come.”

First Aid’s face cracks into a huge smile. “Really? You will?”

I nod decisively, trying to convince myself as much as him. “Really. Parker’s right.” I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I just need to make arrangements for my things and my job and my house. And the dog.”

“I can take care of that. The house, I mean. And have Dáire rehomed too,” Parker says. “Don’t worry about it. Does he only speak Irish, or does he obey English commands as well?”

“Just Irish,” I reply with a giggle. “A way to force myself to learn. Talk to the locals before you bring him out of the country, you might find someone here to take him. The house is a rental on yearly contract, so if you’ll just get my things moved out? And I’ll call the university.”

She nods. “I’ll go make arrangements. You two stay here and catch up.” She winks at me. “I think you need it.”

She saunters outside with a whistle for the dog. I’m left alone with First Aid.

It’s beyond awkward. I don’t even know where to look.

I don’t think there’s a guide for how to reunite with your alien boyfriend who left a decade ago to fight a war on his homeplanet.

… or there might be. I may just not have read the right comic yet.

First Aid shuffles closer. Then he kneels at my feet.

Seriously. He’s on his knees in front of me.

“Isobel?” His voice is plaintive. “Are you okay?”

“I’m a bit overwhelmed,” I admit, looking at him at last. “Well, more than a bit, to be honest. Are you really whisking me away to your home planet?”

He smiles at that, tension leaving his shoulders. “I’m really whisking you away to my home planet.” He reaches for my hand, and the touch sends a shudder through me. “Parker said that Alice had moved on, gotten married and had a child even. But that you hadn’t.” Bright eyes look up at me under gorgeous long eyelashes, and the sight is so familiar that it hurts.

“I went on a few dates. It didn’t work out.” I touch his cheek. “They weren’t you.”

Another one of those beautiful smiles bloom on his face. “Does that mean… I don’t want to impose, but…”

“First Aid.” I smile back at him. “This is where you should be kissing me.” I stop as a thought occur to me. “Well, unless you’ve moved on. I did tell you to do that, so I wouldn’t blame you.”

He shakes his head. “Isobel, you have my spark. That will never change.”

“Well, then.” I tug at his hands. “What are you waiting for?”

The next moment, I have a Protectobot in my lap. The kiss is just as desperate as our last one was, but for different reasons.

“Primus, Isobel,” First Aid gasps, “I love you so much. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Likewise,” I manage in between kisses. “I love you, First Aid. Ten years didn’t change a thing.”

He groans. Standing up, he lifts me easily. His eyes are questioning.

I get it. “Bedroom’s down the hall. On the left.”

He kisses me again, deeply this time.

I hope Parker takes her sweet time coming back.

 

_I can’t believe this. Even having spent the last four hours in bed with First Aid, I can’t believe this._

_They’re back. And they’re taking me with them._

_I’m going to Cybertron._

_I’m going to Cybertron!!!_

_I still can’t make it make sense._

_NASA would be so jealous if they knew. I’m going to be the first human being to visit an alien planet! Well, unless you believe the tinfoil hat crowd._

_I’ve called the university and let them know I’m resigning. I’ve been given a job offer I just can’t refuse, and it requires me to leave Ireland altogether. They said they were disappointed to see me go, but understood my reasoning._

_Then I terminated my rental contract after this year. That should give Parker enough time to get my stuff organized._

_First Aid helped me pack. It was really hard to know what to bring – the suit Wheeljack’s designed has its own interactive sort of motion capture garment that goes with it, so I can’t wear a lot of my own clothes underneath. I ended up packing every bit of underwear I own, all my quilts and blankets, a few other small items. I though about bringing my movies and books, since the Autobots have ten years to catch up on, but apparently that’s what Smokescreen’s doing now. He’s hooked up to the web, downloading every bit of movie and television input from the last ten years. There have been orders put in for specific shows, First Aid said – Smokescreen was apparently threatened with bodily harm if he didn’t bring back the latest seasons of Doctor Who and Grey’s Anatomy._

_I did pack my games, though. Sideswipe’s apparently managed, in between everything else, to perfect his gaming system._

_God, I’m so nervous._

In what seems like no time at all, I’m hugging Parker goodbye. There are tears, and well-wishes, but we both know that this is what’s best for me. Even if it goes badly.

“I’d tell you to write, but that’s kind of impossible,” she says, and she’s smiling through the tears.

“I don’t know, maybe they’ll have to take the trip here every ten years to catch up on whatever TV show’s new,” I joke. It’s not much of an attempt, but this is way better than my last goodbye.

“Love you, Parker.” I hug her tightly again. “Say goodbye to the others for me, yeah?”

“I will. Love you too, Is. And you’ll say hi to the ‘Bots for us, won’t you?”

“Definitely.”

We don’t say anything more after that. I just pull back, give her a smile and a wave, and let First Aid lead me away.

I don’t look back.

The island runway is a tiny thing, meant for tiny planes that can carry something like eight people. Now, one end of it is taken up by a massive helicopter.

“I thought Cosmos was a spaceship?” I’m confused.

“He is.” First Aid chuckles. His holoform hand is in mine, warm and comforting. His alt mode’s waiting for us inside Cosmos. “But somehow we thought that a green flying saucer would pull unwanted attention. That’s why we have Hound along. As long as Cosmos doesn’t move, he can keep up the hologram indefinitely.”

I’m led around the helicopter. When we’re just under its belly, we pass through the hologram.

“Holy fuck,” I exclaim. “He really is a flying saucer.”

First Aid grins. “I told you.”

“So, not only am I being whisked off to another planet, I’m doing so in what looks like mankind’s original vision of what alien spacecraft looked like.” I whistle as a ramp lowers in front of us. “Sweet. Hi, Cosmos. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hello, Isobel! Do you mind if I call you Isobel?”

Like when I was in Skyfire’s alt mode, the voice seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. It’s a light tenor, almost childlike, and full of suppressed excitement.

“No, that’s fine,” I reply as we enter the spaceship proper and I can look around. “I don’t mind.”

“Hiya, Isobel! It’s great to see you!”

Wheeljack looks unchanged from when I saw him last. It doesn’t look like he’s blown himself up since then – or if he did, Ratchet made him better.

“You too, Wheeljack!” I smile up – way up - at the tall Autobot. “I hear you’re the one responsible for the tech that’ll let me survive this?”

“That’s me!” His helmfins blink, and it makes me all happy inside. “If you have everything you need, we can head over to it right now?”

“I’m all packed,” I confirm, as First Aid hauls the first two of my three suitcases up the ramp. “Show me where you want me.”

Wheeljack bends down to offer me his palm. “Come on then.”

I cling to his finger and look around as he walks, trying to absorb what the inside of a flying saucer looks like.

It’s surprisingly normal-looking. Granted, I do see a room that’s full of blinking monitors and a huge window on one side, but mostly it’s a strange curved corridor.

Wheeljack’s talking the whole time. I understand most of the individual words in his sentences, but not the sentences themselves.

“We needed to combat the natural aging of your body,” he explains, and that one I actually understand. “So the stasis chamber’s equipped with this internal nourishment and oxygen branching system which also supplies a type of regenerative nanites that’ll function on the human body. I hope. This means that we can keep your body functional as the nanites will combat the aging process. It should keep your body in perfect condition. And you won’t even notice the time passing.”

All those ‘should’s and ‘hope’s in there are not exactly reassuring me. Hopefully Wheeljack knows what he’s doing.

“Your mind will be dormant,” he continues, “and only the absolute necessary functions will be operative. The rest will be in a stasis state until we reach Cybertron.” He throws out an arm as we walk through the last door, the sweeping gesture taking in the room. “There she is. What do you think?”

… I think I’m dead.

“Very impressive,” I manage, eyeing the large silvery coffin-like thing standing upright along the wall, hooked up to all manners of tubing and instruments. The top half of it is mainly transparent, letting me see the strange rootlike spiderwebby tendrils hanging from the top of it.

I do not want to go in there. But it seems like I’m going to have to.

First Aid arrives, in root mode this time, and scoops me out of Wheeljack’s hand. Even after a decade, he knows instantly when I’m uncomfortable.

“Ratchet’s checked over every inch of it,” he sooths me. “It’s safe. It’ll keep your body oxygenated so the cells don’t die, but it’ll also stimulate cellular regrowth and rejuvenation so your body doesn’t age.” He runs a large finger down my back. “I know it looks like a torture instrument. But it’s not uncomfortable to be inside, I promise. We had Bee test it in his holoform, he’s got the highest sensitivity of all of us. He said it felt like sleeping on a water bed or being cradled by Baymax.”

That has me laughing. “Well, I do love Baymax. So it’s safe then?”

“It is,” First Aid promises. “I’m going to be putting you in there myself. I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t think it was safe.”

“You’ll need to go in there as soon as we reach upper atmosphere,” Wheeljack says. “Cosmos has good shields, but they were never meant to protect a human from the radiation in space. You’ll need to stay in there as soon as we hit space proper.”

“Okay,” I sigh. “I guess you know best. So when are we leaving?”

“Right now,” the white mech replies. “Come on, you need to see this.” His helmfins blink merrily at me. “It’s a once in a lifetime experience.”

First Aid carries me back the way we came, cradling me up against his chest. I can feel his spark humming through the metal plating.

“I’ve missed this.” I lean against the comforting thrum. “Will I still be able to cuddle close to you like this in that suit?”

“That’s why there’re plans for a dome,” First Aid replies. “I can’t not put my hands on you, love, it’s physically impossible.”

“He’s been a right pain to live with,” Wheeljack comments. “Pining like you wouldn’t believe. Him and Groove both. And nobody’s dared say a word to Sunstreaker since we won the battle. All communication with him goes through Sideswipe.”

I don’t like hearing that. My golden brother was always more fragile than he let on. “How’s Bluestreak? Laserbeak? Skyfire?”

“’Fire’s doing good,” Wheeljack replies. “Or good enough. He mostly buries himself in work. Every now and then he visits Starscream, but that mech’s not in a good place. So Skyfire’s never happy when he leaves there.”

“Bluestreak’s doing as well as I’ve ever seen,” First Aid adds. “He had a lot of trouble with the seekers at first – not that he made trouble, he was just constantly on the edge, and it didn’t do him any good. But seeing the seekers around being peaceful all the time seems to have helped somewhat. Skywarp especially – he’s got a real interest in Blue, apparently. I heard Bee even caught them together once, with Skywarp cuffed and on his knees and this slag-eating grin on his face.”

I snort a laugh. “Are you telling me that baby Blue –“

“- I’m telling you nothing,” First Aid interrupts, laughing with me and stroking a finger down my back. My entire body’s vibrating along with his plating as the laughter eases to chuckles. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Huh. Making a mental note of that.

“Laserbeak’s the cutest thing.” In front of us, Wheeljack enters the control room I saw earlier. “When she’s not with her carrier, she’s with Eject. I’d be half expecting a bonding declaration soon, weren’t if for the fact that both their carriers have nixed it.”

“They have?” My eyebrows lift as First Aid puts me down on the console in front of the window. “Why?”

“Because they’re both still young, and because the peace isn’t firmly established yet,” Wheeljack replies as he sits down and start pushing buttons. “There’s still knowledge in both their processors that needs to be brought before the Council before the other faction can be made generally aware of it. The debriefing’s going on continually, but Laserbeak’s just too useful to pull away for weeks of debriefing at this point. So they’ll have to wait.”

I guess that makes sense. At least it seems like it’s not because of any lingering animosity between Soundwave and Blaster.

“Hey, we got company?”

I look up to see Smokescreen and Hound walk through the doorway.

“We do have company!” Smokescreen is smiling broadly. “Hey, Isobel! So tell me,” he drops down on the chair next to Wheeljack’s, “did he have to woo you away? Was there bribery? Ooh,” his optic ridges wiggle, “was there _sexual_ bribery?”

“Give the girl some peace,” Wheeljack grumbles. “You can settle your bet later. Make the announcement, you know Cosmos doesn’t do that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Smokescreen leans forward to push a button. “I’ll let them know we’re leaving.”

I smile up at Hound as he settles into one of the two unoccupied seats. “Hey, Hound. It’s good to see you.”

“You, too, Isobel. How’ve you been?”

I shrug. “Hermit-like. How’ve you been? How’s Mirage?”

“He’s good!” I remember that smile. “He’s doing so well. He’ll want to see you. If that’s okay.”

The hurt Mirage dealt me has been dwarfed by the pain of their leaving. I have no animosity towards him anymore. There’s that to say for time passing, at least. “I’d like that.”

“Look now, love,” First Aid interrupts softly. “You’ve never seen this before.”

I turn to look out the viewport. We’re lifting away from the surface.

So far, it’s familiar. I’m accustomed to flying. Cosmos mimics the helicopter, keeping to what I suspect is well below his top speed. The island shrinks beneath us, and I’m grateful for the rare clear skies letting me see my home for the last time. I can even see Parker in the yard.

The tears catch me by surprise.

“Isobel? Are you having second thoughts?” First Aid sounds anxious.

I shake my head. “No, not at all. I want to go with you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss what I’m leaving behind.”

First Aid touches my back, and I lean against his hand gratefully.

In front of me, the island grows steadily smaller. Soon it and its sisters are mere shapes in the ocean, the mainland coastline curving away in the distance. As we fly higher, I lose sight of the islands completely.

“Dropping the hologram now,” Hound says, sounding strained.

Cosmos shoots straight up, fast enough to push me back into First Aid’s hand. Below, the planet falls away.

“Out of range,” Cosmos announces brightly. “Thanks for the assist, Hound.”

“Sure.” Hound smiles as he stands up. “I’m gonna go refuel.”

“Look at that, Isobel.” Wheeljack nods towards the viewport. “It’s your last chance.”

I turn back to Earth.

We’re higher up than I’ve ever been, though not in space proper yet. My world is a brilliant blue gem, hanging in front of us and covering the full expanse of the viewport. It stretches in into the blackness of space. I can see the curvature of the planet.

“Time to get settled, Isobel,” Cosmos says apologetically. “I can’t hover here for long, there’s too much space junk and such.”

First Aid nods as he scoops me up. “Come on, love.”

I sneak one last glance at my planet as he carries me away. Then it’s gone.

 

First Aid puts me down in front of the stasis chamber. “You need to lose most of your clothing, love. The chamber gel needs access to your skin to work properly.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him. “How much is most?”

He eyes my long-ish, loose-fitting Deadpool t-shirt. “Everything but that.”

So I won’t be completely naked. That’s a relief.

Wheeljack walks in just as I’m adjusting the shirt over my naked hips. It doesn’t feel anywhere near long enough. “Ready?”

“I guess.” I give up on my shirt. It’ll either work out or it won’t, and hopefully this gel thing is enough to obscure my details.

Wheeljack unlatches the front of the chamber. It depressurizes with a hiss. “Then in you get.”

“Just like that?” I look at the thing skeptically. “I don’t have to shower and wash before entering the swimming pool?”

“That’s why we showered before we left your home,” First Aid says, his holoform arms encircling my waist and pulling at the fabric of my shirt. I surreptitiously pull it back down. “Cosmos doesn’t have that kind of amenities. You’re clean enough, love.”

“Now,” Wheeljack explains. “This is the uncomfortable part, I’m afraid.” He takes my hand and leads me towards the chamber, pointing at a soft, rubber-looking part of the root system. “You’ll need to bite down on this piece here, that’ll trigger the tendril expansion. When I seal the tank, it’ll start filling up with gel. Eventually, you’ll be suspended in it.”

“Like a bacta tank,” I realize, and First Aid grins at me.

It’s good to see that he remembers his Earth popular culture.

“Yeah, probably,” Wheeljack agrees easily. “Whatever that is. Anyway, when the gel reaches your chest, the tendrils will administer a sedative, then a relaxant, and then the stasis formula. By the last one you’ll be asleep.”

I nod. “Sounds good. Let’s do this.”

First Aid spins me around, presses his forehead against mine. “Love you, Isobel.”

I giggle at the really goofy smile he’s wearing. “Love you too, Aid.”

“Ready to come home with me?” He looks intently at me, nervously, almost as if I hadn’t said yes already.

Those eyes are mesmerizing. I can drown in them. “Thought you’d never ask.”

When he kisses me, I can feel him laughing against my lips. He walks me backward without breaking the kiss, until I’m inside the stasis chamber.

“Bite down on the thing,” Wheeljack reminds me. “Aid, you better stop kissing her now, or she’ll bite you instead.”

We break apart, and I turn to glare at Wheeljack. “I would never. Well, not unless he asked.”

First Aid laughs as he pulls on the root system. “This one for now, love. Then we’ll see when we get to Cybertron.”

“Primus save me,” Wheeljack murmurs. “I don’t need to know, okay?”

First Aid grins and pulls down the part I’m supposed to bite down on. “But Wheeljack, you’re the one who designed her a gag.”

I laugh so hard I can’t breathe. To Wheeljack’s credit, he joins in.

“Oh, fine,” he chuckles. “Isobel, bite down on your gag, please.”

I get a glimpse of the ‘gag’ in question, and it sobers me right up. It doesn’t look like something I want in my mouth.

“It’ll be okay, love.” First Aid nudges the thing closer to me. It takes me a moment to open my mouth for it, but then I manage.

My eyes widen in surprise.

Someone’s coated the thing in chocolate. Very, very tasty chocolate.

“Ratchet’s suggestion.” First Aid winks at me. I love how he can still read my reactions, just as well as he could a decade ago.

“Well, sort of,” Wheeljack amends as he double-checks my position. “Ratchet said we should sugarcoat this experience for you. Bumblebee was the one to take it literally. You okay in there?”

I give Wheeljack the thumbs-up. It’s brilliant – the mouth piece is like a giant chocolate-covered lollipop or something. I could stand here and munch on it for a good while quite happily.

“Good. Closing now,” Wheeljack warns. First Aid takes a step back.

I do panic a bit as the door shuts. My Protectobot notices, of course.

“Easy, love,” he sooths. “You’ll be okay. I’m going to be right here all the time, watching you.”

Were it anyone else, that would have been creepy. Instead, it makes me feel safe.

It’s enough to let me give Wheeljack a shaky nod.

He shuts the door and seals it.

As soon as the hiss of the seal fades, my feet get wet. I look down to see a thick gel flowing from a pipe on one side of the chamber. At the same time, the structure I’m biting down on activates, releasing the tendrils.

One of them snake around my neck and down my spine, splitting into smaller filaments and spreading across my back. Another does the same on my front. A thicker one slides along my hips, tying around and between my legs and taking some of my weight.

One goes down my throat. It’s small, far less invasive than I thought it would be, numbing my gag reflex somehow as it passes. I can feel movement as it slithers downward, and it would have made me nauseous normally. But I suddenly realize that my mind is getting foggy. Everything seems just as it should be.

The gel is flowing fast. It’s almost at my chest. So I look at First Aid again. He’s pressed up against the tank, smiling at me. I try to smile back, but the gag has turned into a full mask, covering up my lower face. When I try to lift my hand towards him, it’s strangely heavy.

The gel reaches my shoulders, and my vision fades to inky blackness.

 

***

 

The trip to Cybertron is long, but with most of it behind them without incident Wheeljack is satisfied. He’s had enough of excitement to last him a lifetime. A quiet, uneventful trip through space will be just what the medic ordered, had Ratchet actually ordered him to do anything.

He gathers up the cubes and heads for the control room. Smokescreen will be spelling Hound soon, and it’s a perfect chance to get most of them together for refueling. There is no budging First Aid from Isobel’s side, but the rest of them can socialize.

The other two Autobots are already there when he enters the control room. Hound brightens when he sees the cubes. “Thanks, Wheeljack. I need one of those.”

“I bet you do,” Wheeljack replies. “You’re still building up your reserves after burning them off on that hologram.”

“First Aid still with Isobel?” Smokescreen eyes him over the rim of his own cube.

“Of course he is.” Wheeljack drops into a chair. “Mech even recharges next to the stasis chamber.”

“Ah, young love.” Hound chuckles. “Remember what that was like? Seems like forever ago, doesn’t it?”

Wheeljack snorts. “Don’t let Ratchet hear you say that. He’s older than me, and he won’t appreciate being called ancient.”

“Who were you running with back then, Hound?” Smokescreen’s doorwings tilt curiously.

Hound grins. “Remember Beachcomber?”

Smokescreen stutters, almost spraying his mouthful of energon everywhere. As it is, he has to drag a cloth from subspace and wipe down his chin. “Beachcomber? The minibot?”

Hound shrugs. “He’s handsome. And we had a lot in common. Though not enough, as it turned out.” He drinks deeply. “Haven’t seen him in an age.”

The unspoken ‘I hope he’s still around’ echoes between them.

“What about you, Cosmos?” Wheeljack pats the console in front of him. “Remember your first crush?”

The spacefarer mumbles something.

“What’s that?” Smokescreen grins widely. “Sorry buddy, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“It was Blaster, okay?” Cosmos sounds embarrassed . “It was Blaster. I was a scout back then, spent all my time in deep space, and he was Control, and I just – I liked his voice. A lot.”

Hound chuckles. “You probably weren’t the only one. Did he reciprocate?”

“We never even met. I bet he probably doesn’t remember that we knew each other back then.” His voice sharpens. “And if you ever tell him this, I will happily space you.”

Hound raises his voice over the ensuing laughter. “Smokey, it’s your turn. Tell us of your first sweetheart.”

Before Smokescreen gets the chance to, Cosmos rocks violently. Wheeljack’s cube flies out of his hand, spattering everything with sticky liquid.

“… the slag?” Hound turns his focus back to the consoles. “Cosmos, what was that? What’s this blinking light?”

“I’m being targeted!” Cosmos veered sharply. “But there’s no one there!”

“Heavy weapons fire?” Smokescreen is all business again, leaning forward to check Cosmos’ readings. “Your shields seem to be holding up, can you fire back?”

“Not without a target to hit!” Cosmos replies. “Besides, I’m an exploratory vessel now, I don’t have guns. I have repulsor cannons for use on space debris and the like!” He dodges again, forcing Wheeljack to hold on tightly to his chair.

“Where is this bogey?” Hound mutters, curled over the console. “Aha! There!”

Wheeljack glances over. “That’s not a ship.”

“No, that’s… That’s an old automated defense system, the kind both factions used to use on their deep space bases! It shouldn’t be here, it must have been cut loose somehow.”

“A loose cannon drifting around space,” Wheeljack mutters. “Brilliant. Cosmos, can you dodge it and get out of here?”

“No problem!” The mech’s voice is bright again. “It’s not firing very well, and the shots are weak. We’ll be out of here in a moment.”

“Log the position for the report to the council,” Wheeljack says. “Someone needs to come out here and clean this up.”

“Yes sir.” Smokescreen’s back in old habits. There hasn’t been much need for a military hierarchy since the war ended, but they all still remember where they fit. That’s going to take a while to forget.

Wheeljack sits back as Cosmos weaves his way out of the weapon system’s range. Only then does he realize he’s being pinged.

_*First Aid? Sorry about that, we had to dodge weapons fire from a drifting defense system. We’re good now.*_

_*No, we’re not!”_ First Aid is more panicked than Wheeljack has ever heard him. It's enough to make Wheeljack's lines run ice cold. _“The gel tank was knocked loose and smashed into the stasis chamber, and now she’s bleeding into the gel, and – oh, Primus, Wheeljack, it smashed her head in, but her vitals are still stable, you need to get back here_ now! _*_

Wheeljack runs.

 

Hours later they all congregate around the large comm screen in what was dubbed ‘Isobel’s room’ back before everything went to pit. Wheeljack’s looking over his notes again, though there’s nothing new to see. First Aid’s curled up around the semi-repaired stasis chamber, dim optics focused on the screens that indicate his love is still alive in there.

The mood is grim.

The comm screen blinks to life, and Wheeljack turns towards it sluggishly. He feels more tired than he’s ever felt before, and it’s all in his mind – his frame is in excellent repair and fully fueled.

“Hey, mechs.”

_“I’ve looked over the scans,”_ Ratchet says without preamble. _“And you’re right. First Aid’s right.”_ The medic sighs, optics dimming. _“The only thing keeping her alive at this point is the fact that she’s in stasis.”_

“What do we do?” Smokescreen looks from the screen to the tiny, glass-encased figure in First Aid’s hands. “We have to do something. We can’t let her die now.”

They really can’t. Not only because it would be an absolute waste, but also because they need her skill set desperately. And most importantly, Wheeljack thinks, because if Isobel dies there’s no doubt in his mind that they’ll lose First Aid as well. And they simply can’t afford to. The young Protectobot is the best medic they have after Ratchet and one of only a handful fully qualified ones. Plus, there’s the rest of the Protectobots to consider – even discounting the fact that Groove also loves Isobel and would be completely shattered, the gestalt could very well fall apart without First Aid.

_“There’s not much we can do,”_ Ratchet continues. _“The tank that broke through the chamber caused massive trauma to her head and brain. I don’t have the skill to heal that. At this point, as I said, she’s only alive because she’s in stasis. Her brain hasn’t registered the injury yet.”_

He brings up the scans to showcase on the screen. _“The area that’s been damaged is where her motor functions are located. With damage like this, she won’t be able to speak, or to move. The autonomous functions are still active, so she’d be breathing on her own, but that’s it.”_

_“What if they take her back to the humans?”_ That’s Optimus, chiming in from behind Ratchet, and for the first time Wheeljack notices that he’s looking at a full command assembly. He must have been really out of it to not notice the others. Prime is there, as is Ironhide and Red Alert, Soundwave, Thundercracker and Scrapper, Onslaught and Hot Spot. Fireflight is there for some reason, glued up against Hot Spot’s side and looking more than a little upset.

_“The humans don’t have the skill to fix this either.”_ Ratchet shakes his head. _“If she’d been damaged like this on Earth, she would have been dead already. Best case scenario, she would be in a coma she would never wake up from.”_

There’s a stifled sob from First Aid. On the screen, Hot Spot leans forward as if to reach for his brother.

“It’s still her, though, right?” Smokescreen sounds ready almost desperately cling to something, anything. “Even with the damage, she’s still herself?”

_“The parts of her brain that we’d consider as her personality cortex are intact, mostly. So yeah, she’s still herself.”_ Ratchet sighs, head resting on his hands. _“For now.”_

_“How deep is her stasis?”_ Thundercracker asks. _“Will she deteriorate in there?”_

That, Wheeljack can at least answer. “No. It’s designed to keep her in suspended animation almost indefinitely. At some point the gel will begin to lose its function, but by my estimates she could be in there for several centuries – vorns – before that happens.”

_“Then bring her here, at least,”_ Scrapper says, clearly realizing what Thundercracker was getting at. _“If the humans can’t help her, and you can’t help her in space, this is the best option.”_ He glances at Ratchet. _“Even though, at this point, we can’t help her either.”_

“Heading your way full speed as we speak, sirs,” Cosmos chimes in. “We’ll be there in a couple of days.”

_“We don’t have the skill to fix her,”_ Ratchet repeats, and Wheeljack can see how much it bothers him. _“Her body’s broken. She’s alive for now, but she’s dead the moment we wake her up.”_

_“She should have been a Cybertronian,”_ Ironhide sighs. _“Then we could have built her a new frame.”_

They sit in silence for a moment. Then Fireflight, of all mechs, brightens. _“Well, can’t we?”_

_“Can’t we what?”_ Ironhide frowns at him.

“Flight? Why are you there?” Smokescreen’s doorwings tilt upwards in surprise. Wheeljack feels slightly gratified to know he’s not the only one to not notice they had a full audience.

_“I’m standing in for ‘Bolt, he’s with Skyfire and Skywarp, keeping Starscream company for his flight,”_ the young jet says. It makes sense to Wheeljack – the damaged Decepticon still isn’t mentally stable, and the three mechs named may be the only ones who can keep up with him should he decide to try to ditch them. _“And I meant, can’t we build her a frame?”_

Fireflight shrinks back slightly from all the incredulous stares directed at him. For a moment, it doesn’t look like anyone will respond, but then support comes from an unexpected direction.

“Explain,” First Aid says. His voice is dead.

_“Well, I was thinking,”_ Fireflight continues hesitantly. _“We can take her to Vector Sigma. Both us and the Protectobots were given life through Vector Sigma, right? Maybe it can give Isobel new life too. We can build her a frame and then maybe Vector Sigma can put her into it.”_

_“That’s not how it works, ‘Flight,”_ Ratchet sighs tiredly. _“Vector Sigma can bring forth sparks to new frames, yes. But we don’t have a spark or a frame. We have a severely damaged human.”_

“I did consider building her a frame.” Wheeljack’s winglets flicker tiredly. “Connect it to her brain, have it function as an extension of her body, like – what do the humans call it – a prosthetic. But her brain has too much damage.”

_“I don’t mean a frame to just put her human body in,”_ Fireflight insists. The little jet has courage, that’s for sure. _“I meant make a frame for her. Make her one of us.”_

Ironhide shakes his head. _“We know that’s what you meant, kid. But it’s not that easy.”_

_“Actually,”_ Optimus says slowly, _“it’s worth considering. Vector Sigma brings forth new sparks, as well as old ones, and they have to be created somehow.”_ He looks at Wheeljack. _“Can she be moved safely?”_

Wheeljack nods. “If we’re careful.”

_“Then let’s bring her to Vector Sigma’s chamber,”_ Optimus decides. _“It’s a slim chance that may not pan out, but at this point in time it’s the only one we have. We will bring her there, and I will speak to Alpha Trion.”_ He looks at the others around his table. _“Let’s leave it in Primus’ hands.”_

Wheeljack will go along with that. But he can’t help thinking that Primus hasn’t done much good for them lately.

 

Cybertron may look solid from space, but for the most part the planet’s made up of hollow spaces. There’s tunnels everywhere, levels and sublevels and lower sublevels, each one more dilapidated than the last.

Walking through them gives Wheeljack the creeps.

He follows as Optimus walks confidently ahead, Ratchet by his side. First Aid walks behind Wheeljack, still cradling his precious cargo, Groove right behind him. Ironhide and Hound brings up the rear.

Wheeljack hadn’t thought the passage would be easy. But he hadn’t expected it to be this hard, either. Some tunnels are almost impassable, forcing them to take long detours, and more than once Wheeljack is convinced that Prime really doesn’t know where he’s going.

It seems like forever before they’re finally standing outside an unmarked door. Optimus places his palm against the panel, and a faint click echoes along the hallway past the party of silent, tense mechs.

The chamber inside is just as Wheeljack remembers. It’s almost eerie how little has changed since the first time he was in here, reconfiguring five Cybertronian fliers into Earth-mode baby jets.

Good times.

This time felt very, _very_ different.

Optimus walked over to the glowing sphere in the center of the room. “Are you there, my friend? We’re in need of your assistance.”

The shape of a mech materializes in front of the glowing core of Vector Sigma.

“Orion.” Alpha Trion’s voice is wispy, insubstantial, like the shade of the mech himself. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. It is good to see you functional.”

“Likewise, Alpha Trion. I wish this was a social call, but we need your help.”

“Yes, so you said.” The figure moves – not walks, it’s far too smooth for that – past Optimus and Ratchet to where First Aid and Groove are huddled around Isobel’s class box.

Wheeljack is fighting very hard to not think of it as a casket.

“Your sparks are troubled,” Alpha Trion says. “What can I do to help?”

“We don’t know. We came to you on the off chance that you do,” Optimus explains, following the shade.

“I see. Is that why you’ve brought a tiny organic here?”

First Aid hisses viciously as Alpha Trion reaches out to touch, and the shade draws his ghostly hand back.

“Yes.” Optimus puts a comforting hand on First Aid’s shoulder. The Protectobot is far too tense to relax at this point. “The organic is Isobel Harrington, a native of Earth. And a dear, beloved friend. She’s been grievously injured and can’t be brought out of stasis without it killing her.” He in-vents heavily, and Ratchet steps up beside him in a very visible show of support.

Ratchet may refuse to believe in Primus, all current evidence to the contrary, but he does believe in his mate.

“We were hoping you knew of a way to save her,” Optimus finishes. “In fact, we were hoping she could become one of us.”

Alpha Trion eyes him with something that could almost be called skepticism. “And is that what she wants as well?”

“She dies if we don’t do something,” Ratchet murmurs. “And we need her.”

“Isobel’s said before that she wished she was a Cybertronian,” Groove says softly. “They even discussed her desired alt mode. Remember, Aid?” The gentle touch to his brother’s shoulder goes unanswered. Groove looks up at the shade instead. “I am confident she wouldn’t object to this.”

Alpha Trion smiles down at the smaller cycleformer. “Hello, my child. It is good to see you again. You have exceeded every hope I had for your function. I am so very proud of you.”

The smile on Groove’s face is beatific. “Thank you.”

“If you think she’d prefer this to death, we must see what can be done.” Alpha Trion turns away from First Aid. “Come. Put her here.”

First Aid hesitantly, slowly and with spark-wrenching care places the stasis chamber on the floor beneath Vector Sigma’s core. The shade’s hand hovers above the reinforced glass.

“Poor thing,” Alpha Trion sighs. “She’s such a fighter.” He quietens, and the core brightens, until the light is sharp enough to blind and Wheeljack has to turn away.

It seems like forever before the light dims again, but according to his chronometer mere moments had passed.

Alpha Trion straightened. “There is a strange resonance,” he muses. “Similar to a mech’s spark, but also not. It is not something I have encountered before. Where did she evolve?”

“She’s from Earth,” Optimus replies. “The planet we were stuck on for a while, fighting Megatron.” He frowns, looking down at the very still, frail figure. “There’s a resonance?”

“Yes. I would have liked to meet more of these organics from Earth, to determine if it’s just her or if it’s her entire species. Has she been in contact with anything that would make her more attuned to Cybertron?”

“She was a captive with the Decepticons for a while,” Ratchet supplies, “but there was no indication that they’d tampered with her like that. She’s not a techno-organic.”

“No, she’s not.” Alpha Trion bends down to look at Isobel again. “She is enigmatic, however. There’s a strain within her, reaching for me, though it is faint. It is like the core of her hungers for our energy.”

“So does that mean you can help?” First Aid speaks for the first time since they left Cosmos, and the sheer grief in his voice is staggering.

“I don’t know,” Alpha Trion replies simply. “She doesn’t have a spark.”

First Aid’s head bows until his forehead rests against the glass just over Isobel’s torso. “Please. I can’t – please.”

“Your spark yearns for her, my child.” Alpha Trion’s voice is soft and gentle. “I can feel it. I will do my best, though I cannot guarantee the result you want.” He straightens, and his optics find Wheeljack’s. The inventor has to stop himself from taking a step back, flinching from the eternal power in that gaze. It’s more than a little unnerving. “Build her a frame. Make it something she can relate to, something that fits her. And I need your sparks.”

“Our sparks?” Ratchet, of course, is instantly skeptical.

“Yes.” Alpha Trion turns towards the medic, and Wheeljack vents quietly in relief. That gaze is a hard one to be on the receiving end of. “She doesn’t have a spark for me to collect. She resonates, but she doesn’t communicate. For this to have even a remote chance to work, I need to see her through you.”

Optimus steps forward bravely, of course, chestplates cracking open. “Take what you need.” Next to him, Ironhide and Hound does the same.

“Your willingness to help is proof of your affection for this child.” Alpha Trion gestures towards the core. “Come. All of you.”

One by one, they step into a loose circle. Vector Sigma’s core is bathed in spark light. First Aid is the last, tearing himself away from Isobel with a choked-off sob and standing to join the others.

And then Wheeljack sees everything through Alpha Trion’s optics. He sees them, standing around the glowing core, spark colors ranging from Optimus Prime’s vibrant cobalt to Groove’s pale teal.

He sees Isobel. He sees her as they all see her.

The awe and respect coming from Hound, as memories of a blonde girl befriending him despite his mate hurting her so cruelly is brought to the forefront. Along with that, piggybacking on their bond, comes Mirage’s feelings of shame and regret, along with gratitude and understanding.

Ironhide brings Chromia into the exchange, and pride at a pupil overcoming her difficulties dominates the link for a moment. Wheeljack sees Isobel, a beaten, cowed Isobel, standing straight and strong and asking to be taught.

Then there’s humor, and it takes Wheeljack a moment to realize it comes from him, as he sees the frail creature laughing along with beings four times her height and giving as good as she gets. The sentiment echoes around the circle, as the others remember Isobel lovingly teasing or angrily shouting at whichever Autobot deserved it at the moment.

But above all, there’s all-encompassing love. From Optimus and Ratchet, the latter especially. They both see her as an adopted creation and love her dearly for it. There are memories of her recharging on Optimus’ chest, resting against Ratchet’s spark, close enough that her heartbeat could be felt, briefly beating in tune with their sparks.

There’s a brief worry that this may be what causes the resonance, but Alpha Trion’s confident touch puts that to rest.

First Aid is a well of adoration and grief, all emotion and no imagery. It spreads from him to the others, lifting them up and pushing them down, and is only barely tempered by Groove’s clear, bright love for the girl and his faith that everything will be all right. Groove in his turn supplies endless images of Isobel laughing, caring about others, giving everything to everyone. Among those are brief memories of a distraught, skinny woman who shouts and screams at those around her, acting out her pain.

There are also more intimate, personal memories. Of Isobel crying into someone’s chest. Sleeping in a large bed, hair tangled up and lying in sweaty strands across her face. Eating chocolate like there’s no tomorrow, which brings mirth from the rest of them.

Whispering ‘I love you’ with a tired smile on her face.

That’s the image that solidifies between them. Alpha Trion melds the flow of joined consciousness, braiding it together somehow behind this picture, taking in all the emotions and images and memories and coalescing them into a bright, tiny star.

As they begin to fade out of the link the star is still there, hovering between Isobel and Vector Sigma’s core.

“This will take time,” Alpha Trion says, and the sound is startling even though it’s not very loud. “I ask that most of you leave now. The youngest of you, as well as those of you who will work on the frame, shall come and go as you desire.” He turns to Groove and First Aid. “The two of you may remain, if you wish.”

First Aid immediately sits down by Isobel’s head again. Wheeljack composes a note to Prowl, asking him to see that energon is brought here regularly, and also to make sure that Hot Spot knows he needs to get his brother out of here as much as possible. He also adds a postscript specifying that Defensor coming into play would be good.

“I gathered that there are more of you who know her,” the shade continues. “Send them here. They will also be required to share their sparks.”

Wheeljack makes a mental note of that as well, listing up the ones who’d be most necessary.

“Go in peace now.” Alpha Trion meets each of their optics in turn. “There is much still to be done on Cybertron.”

It’s a clear dismissal, and barring First Aid and Groove they all make their way out. They’re halfway to the surface before any of them breach the silence.

“I’ll get hold of Sideswipe,” Ironhide says quietly. “He and Sunstreaker should be here.”

“Bumblebee,” Optimus agrees. “Jazz and Prowl.”

“Skyfire. Bluestreak. Blaster and the cassettes.” Wheeljack sighs. “Let’s face it, mechs. Everyone’s going to need to come down here at one point. Even some of the Decepticons.”

“I’ll set up a roster.” Ratchet doesn’t look too happy, but there’s a grim determination in his optics. “We’ll give her the best chance possible.”

 

The best chance possible means that Wheeljack’s building a frame. He gets the design from Blaster, goes over it with Jazz, Hot Spot and Ratchet, and begins basic construction.

He’s far from alone. Ratchet is there as often as he can, Hoist as well. Hook, to Wheeljack’s surprise, and it’s a good thing too – the Constructicon turns out to be unparalleled when it comes to manufacturing perfect, tiny gears and cogs. Skyfire helps out, Perceptor, Grapple. Anyone with even a smidgeon of scientific or manufacturing training shows up in Wheeljack’s lab at some point.

The frame is ready long before the spark is.

Wheeljack looks at it every time he escorts someone down there, and he does so a lot. The others seem happy to leave it to him, since Alpha Trion specifically said he would be welcome back as often as he needed.

The first group down consists of Prowl and Jazz, Bumblebee, Mirage, Smokescreen and Trailbreaker. It’s a calculated decision, taking most of Autobot Spec Ops and Tactical down there at once, and Wheeljack knows they’d never put them all together like that if the peace didn’t look to be holding.

Mirage comes back from that one in tears, leaning on Trailbreaker’s strong shoulder.

As they leave, he sees Ratchet in the distance, Bluestreak and Skywarp with him. Behind them comes Sideswipe, all wide grin and false bravado. He’s tugging at a semi-feral, almost vibrating Sunstreaker.

The golden twin’s optics are bleached white, and the snarl on his face seems almost to have frozen there. Wheeljack doesn’t linger to see them come out, but Ratchet lets him know later that it wasn’t pretty.

Blaster enters with all his cassettes, Laserbeak riding along on his shoulder. The Aerialbots form a group with what’s left of the Protectobots, crowding the small chamber and making Wheeljack wish he could wait outside. Instead he watches the small spark floating over Isobel’s chest. It’s growing, slowly but steadily, color inching in towards a vibrant emerald.

Swindle and Soundwave request to go down there together. They’ve brought her to her lowest, they claim, and this is also something Alpha Trion needs to see. Wheeljack wholeheartedly agrees, but he also doesn’t mind when Optimus volunteers to escort them himself. Ironhide tags along, purely by accident of course.

Time passes.

 

It takes almost a vorn. A vorn of waiting, visiting, watching that emerald spark grow ever more solid and sure. Then, finally, Alpha Trion summons them.

Once again, and hopefully for the last time, Wheeljack follows Optimus and Ratchet down the narrow tunnels that lead to Vector Sigma’s chamber. He hopes it’s for the last time. The passage is slow, hindered by the large crate they carry between them. Though the frame is slight, smaller than any of them are, the box is still heavy and difficult to handle.

The door opens before them again.

“She’s grown,” Ratchet says softly. “Look at her.”

The green spark is pulsing happily now, hovering midway between Isobel’s glass case and Vector Sigma’s core. First Aid’s sitting next to it, and he’s smiling.

“Welcome,” Alpha Trion says, the insubstantial shade gently caressing First Aid’s unmasked face. “It is time. Please put the frame down over there.”

There’s a berth pad laid out behind the core. Wheeljack and Ratchet unpacks the frame carefully, almost reverently, placing it carefully on the soft pad. Wheeljack pulls out a polishing cloth and rubs it one more time over the white plating. Sunstreaker will probably want to work on the finish at some point, but it’s good enough for now.

He glances over at the frail body in the chamber. Isobel looks sickly now, like something is ailing her. Wheeljack will never pretend to know how, but he’ll bet that whatever is lacking from the organic body is hovering in the air above her.

“Summon your brother, child,” Alpha Trion tells First Aid softly. “The two of you should both be here.”

“How long do we have?” Optimus asks suddenly. “There are some others who should be here as well.”

“I do not decide the time,” the shade replies wryly. “She does that. She’s almost ready. Call them now, and we shall see if they make it on time.”

They’re still waiting when Groove walks in half an hour later with a wide smile on his face. He settles next to his brother, putting his arm across First Aid’s shoulders.

A few moments after that, Jazz darts in with Prowl on his heels. Behind them, Sideswipe enters with Sunstreaker. He’s practically pulling Sunstreaker along, and the golden twin looks ready to either bolt or fight someone at any moment -

\- until he catches sight of the green spark and the frame behind it. Suddenly he’s pliant, malleable in Sideswipe’s hands, and lets himself be moved to sit somewhere behind Groove. He never looks away from Isobel.

“That’s everyone,” Optimus murmurs.

“Then we wait,” Alpha Trion replies. “She will let us know when she’s ready.”

After waiting so long, it should have been easy to wait for just a few minutes more. But Wheeljack has to fight the temptation to pace and fidget. It doesn’t help that there’s so much tension in the room, enough that he feels he can cut it with a knife. First Aid’s still staring at that green spark, and so’s Sunstreaker, with Sideswipe leaning against his shoulder. Wheeljack would bet that they’re talking over their bond, or at least that Sideswipe’s soothing his twin.

Jazz is eerily still, and Prowl’s hand on him is probably an anchor. Next to them, Optimus and Ratchet stand side by side without touching.

They stand there forever. Wheeljack is half convinced something’s wrong with his chronometer, the seconds pass so extremely slowly.

Waiting to see if someone lives or dies has never felt this grueling.

“Look,” Groove says suddenly. “Look at her body.”

Isobel is paling, fast. At the same time, the spark brightens, pulsing harder.

“It is time,” Alpha Trion says. He moves closer to the green spark. “Come, little one. You cannot be tied to this organic body anymore.”

The spark trembles slightly.

“Don’t be afraid, my child.” Alpha Trion’s voice is soft and soothing. “Your new frame waits for you.”

He reaches out, and after a moment of hesitation, the spark floats to his hand. At the same time, Isobel’s organic body flatlines, the monitors beeping. Wheeljack steps over to silence them without looking away from the green spark in Alpha Trion’s hand.

The shade moves over to the frame, and as if sensing its spark close by, the white chestplates crack open. There’s a moment of hesitation again, and then the spark slowly, slowly falls inside the open chamber.

The sharp click of the plates closing is enough to make Wheeljack jump.

“Now we wait,” Alpha Trion says softly. “Ratchet, First Aid. Come observe.”

The medics sit down on either side of the pale frame. Ratchet pulls out a portable scanner.

“The spark output is strong,” he mutters. “It hasn’t inhabited the frame yet, but there’s nothing wrong. This part can take anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes.”

“Wake up, love,” First Aid croons. “Come back to me. It’s time to wake up now.”

“Her hand,” Prowl whispers.

“Her face too, mech,” Jazz adds. “Look. She’s in there.”

“Readings are good,” Ratchet agrees. “Her fuel pump is engaging, her sensor suite coming online. We should be hearing her engine in a moment.”

The engine kicks in as predicted, a smooth, low purr reminiscent of Jazz’s Earth alt mode.

And then the optics power up, and Wheeljack’s glad he had the thought to match them to her spark.

She’s beautiful.

“Hello, child,” Alpha Trion says kindly. “What is your name?”

Green optics look at him, and her vocalizer onlines with a hiss of static. She frowns behind her clear visor.

“Don’t worry, sparklet,” Ratchet says, smiling slightly. “Give your frame time to wake up properly.”

There’s more static, and then the vocalizer finally kicks in. “I’m… I’m Isobel. Aren’t I? But it says I’m… It says I’m Cynosura. I don’t understand.”

Ratchet smiles, a full-blown grin that has tension fade away from Wheeljack’s muscle cables. “Do you remember yourself?”

“I was Isobel, I remember that,” she says slowly. “There is… a lot of memory errors, it says. I don’t know what that means.”

“Do you remember us?” First Aid asks, and he sounds like he’s terrified to hear the answer.

She turns her white helm towards him, narrow gold finials twitching. Then a smile blossoms on her face as well. “I remember you. Hello, First Aid.”

First Aid almost sobs as he takes her hand. She seizes it and uses it to pull herself up into a seated position.

“I remember all of you,” she says, looking around with a smile. “Groove. Sunstreaker.” She reaches for the golden twin with a worried look on her young face, and Sunstreaker all but collapses into her lap. Pale silver fingers, unused to moving yet, hesitantly stroke over his back.. “Sunstreaker. It says you’re my brother.” The frown deepens. “It says a lot of things. I don’t understand.”

“That’s all right, sparklet. We’ll teach you.” Ratchet touches her back, and she leans into the grounding support.

“Take her with you,” Alpha Trion says. “I can do no more for her.”

“Thank you, old friend.” Optimus sounds as relieved as Wheeljack feels.

Sideswipe gathers up his brother, and First Aid eases the new femme to her feet. “Come on, love. We want you in a medical center for a while, until we’re sure you’re stable.”

Wheeljack surreptitiously picks up the glass casket. No need for her to see that.

He needn’t have worried. The new femme leans in against First Aid’s chest. “Carry me? My legs are giving me strange signals that I don’t understand.”

“You’ll learn,” First Aid replies, picking her up easily and smiling so widely that it’s a wonder his faceplate doesn’t crack.

He’s not the only one.

“Let’s go, love.” First Aid nuzzles her helm briefly. It apparently triggers something, because she gasps, and then she burrows in against his neck.

“Good luck, all of you,” Alpha Trion says as he begins to fade. “And if you find another organic like this, bring it to me.”

“Ready to see Cybertron?” Groove is beaming as widely as First Aid was.

She resurfaces from the safety of First Aid’s neck cables and smiles back. “Yes. Show me what I’ve been missing.”

For the first time in a vorn, Wheeljack lets himself be happy.

Things will be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cosmos' first crush is heavily inspired by White Aster's "A voice in the dark".  
> The Vector Sigma chamber and scenes owe a lot to a fic I can¨t remember the name or author of. It's from ff.net, and in it, Optimus brings the Aerialbots and the Protectobots to Vector Sigma's chamber to request a spark for a newly built metrotitan, and they receive Metroplex. If anyone can tell me the name and author of this fic, I'd be grateful.


End file.
